


One Above All

by AquaWolfGirl



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Assassinations - both attempted and successes (none of our faves I promise), Dark Mixed With Fluff - but not too dark, Emperor/Empress AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Historical Fantasy AU, Mentions of past dissatisfaction in a marriage (no abuse though), Minor Character Death, Past Violence, Pound of Tension, Secondary ship to be determined, pinch of humor, slight gore, smidgeon of angst, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2020-10-01 19:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 110,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: Rey didn't expect her arranged union to Emperor Snoke to be happy, considering her parents sold her hand in marriage for a decent sum of gold, but she didn't expect it to end this soon, either. Married to a tyrant, Rey isn't surprised when the people of his empire come to see his blood spilled. But she is surprised when Kylo Ren, named 'king killer', becomes emperor and decides to not only keep her alive, but take her as his own empress.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Should I start a new WIP? No, but this was fun to write and I needed to get it out of my head and onto paper. And since it's written, I might as well publish it, right? I hope you enjoy this first chapter, and though I have no idea where this story is going, I'd love to have you on the journey with me!

Her husband is an awful, terrible, cruel man.

She knows this. She knows this very well, at first hand. But regardless of his temperament and his looks, she is bound to him, and has been for several years now. 

That doesn’t mean she loves him, though.

And so as fire tears through the capital city, she remains out on the balcony, watching the black smoke rise into the sky as the servants whimper and whisper behind her back. They are scared, herding and huddling together like sheep. When the warning bells start to drown out their chitters, that’s when she turns her amber gaze away from the burning city.

“Where is the Emperor?” she demands, the smell of smoke starting to come into the room, carried on the sea breeze with the salt. Her servants continue their gossiping, looking at her with wide, terrified eyes. She swears they are vibrating, their fingers clutching crescents into their skin. She can’t tell where one body begins and another ends. Useless beings, she decides, as she gathers her flowing skirt in her hand and makes her way out of the chamber doors. 

There has been resistance. There has always been resistance. Small demonstrations, protesters standing on the stone of the fountains and shouting from the rooftops. The day she was wed, there were too many riots to count. When they were brought out for the official procession, she recalls blood spilling between the cobblestones, recalls the sullen faces of those who lost someone that day. 

There has always been resistance. But the Resistance, and its rebels, is new. And it is stronger than anything else before it. 

The name ‘Kylo Ren’ is on the lips of many. It’s been on the lips of guards, of commanders, of generals and even the lips of her husband. She’s seen it fall from his wrinkled lips with a decent amount of spit and fury and vitriol. Kylo Ren. The leader of the Resistance. 

Of course, the man’s name is not truly Kylo Ren. ‘_Ren_’, in the old language, means ‘king’. And ‘_kylo_’ - to kill. 

He has come to kill the king. 

She leaves her rooms to chaos. Orders are shouted. The problem is that too many are being shouted at once, resulting in a cacophony of panic and fear. Guards rush past her. The tunics under their armor are stained with sweat. They didn’t think it would come to this. None of them did. 

Rey lingers in the doorway of her quarters, feeling the fingers of some brave soul on the bare skin of her upper arm. “My lady,” one of her attendants says. She moves her arm from his touch, looking over her shoulder and seeing his wide blue eyes. 

“I need to find my husband,” she insists, before she sees a break in the crowd of guards and rushes through. 

“My lady!” 

Her shoes slap against the stone of the palace. She thanks the Gods for her size, squeezing through crowds of servants, of guards, of those who should well and truly be fighting back but are shaking instead. Rushing out towards the balcony facing the front courtyard, she already knows it’s in flame. There’s too much smoke in the halls for it not to be. 

What she didn’t expect was the screams. 

Her fingers find one of the columns of the balcony, the stone cool beneath her touch as she stares down at the hundreds - no, thousands - of people standing in their courtyard. The marble statue of her husband has been broken into dust, his head held up triumphantly by a man with blood on his brow and a manic grin, his fingers bloodied as well.

“Gods,” she breathes, seeing the torches, the blades, the sheer amount of anger that is spilling through the front gates and out into the city. It’s terrifying, truly, though she doesn’t move from her spot. 

“EMPEROR SNOKE!” 

Rey startles, clinging to the column and looking down at the crowds of people. The crowds of people who hate her husband. The crowds of people who want him dead. 

Would they take her if she joined them?

The man who’s speaking is not the one holding the head of the statue. Instead, he stands at the front of the crowd. His armor is black. Even from here, Rey can see it doesn’t have the same level of craftsmanship as the armor of the imperial guards do, but the color of the leather is imposing. It makes him look more spirit than man, and between the armor and the sheer size of him, she curls her fingers against the column, ears and eyes open and eager.

“You’re a fool, Kylo Ren.”

Her husband’s voice booms from her left. Rey turns, seeing him standing at his own balcony, the one where announcements and decrees and death sentences are tossed like they are nothing. She can recall quite clearly standing on that balcony herself, his withered and cold hand in hers, holding her so tightly she swears she could feel her bones grinding together. Their union day seems so long ago, now. Back before she knew of his cruelty, of his anger.

“A fool who got past your guards and through your gates,” the man calls back. The helmet casts his face into shadow, and the distance certainly doesn’t help. Seeing that some of the men have bows, arrows behind their back, she moves her body behind the column, but keeps her face out to watch the interaction between the two men.

“If you wish for a death sentence, you will have it.” 

“The only death I wish for is yours.”

“Then I regret to inform you that you will not live to see it.”

“Is that so?”

She thought him to be like a spirit, at first, but now she sees that the armor more closely resembles a shadow. Thanks to the early morning sun, and the way the palace was built, the courtyard is shrouded in shadow. It allows for the servants to gather water for their chores in the early morning without risking their skin burning, and for the gardeners to tend to the now-trampled bushes, shrubs, and flowers. And now, as the crowd of rebels moves forward, it allows for their leader to slip through into the halls of the palace.

“Find him!” Snoke yells. It would be a roar, if not for the cheers and chants of those who so loathe him.

Rey turns, gathering her skirts in her hands. The stairwells are madness, maids and servants tripping over skirts and steps to escape out into the back gardens. Rey presses to the stone column in the middle of the spiraling staircase, the rock cool against her back as she waits for the chaos to subside. The empress, in title only, goes ignored for the most part. Everyone is concerned only for themselves.

There’s blood on the marble floors by the time she rushes out into one of the main corridors. It’s still early, sunlight not yet finding its way into the palace. Grey shadows leap out at her, dark blood staining the stone. She can see the bodies of a few guards. They all wear the uniform of the Empire. There are no dead rebels here.

There’s the sound of metal, a shriek coming from her left. An alcove once reserved for some now-broken artifact has been left empty, and she ducks into it, realizing her mistake only when she feels the hot, hard press of a body against her back. A scream lodges in her throat as a gloved hand comes to her face, covering her mouth. A hand finds her hip, holding her still and keeping her in the alcove as her husband’s men rush by, their decorative but poorly protective armor clanking as they stalk the halls searching for Kylo Ren and his rebels.

They’re not fooling anyone. The armor looks beautiful, but it does nothing to hide the way their hands shake on their sword hilts.

“Have you a wish to die?”

It’s whispered into her ear, the words echoing slightly thanks to the helm on the man’s head. His hand is still covering her mouth, so she gives the slightest shake of her head. No. No, she does not wish to die.

“Then stay here. Do not come out.”

He changes places with her. He turns her, her face to the wall before she’s promptly let go. Looking over her shoulder, she sees black cloth as he rushes away, staying in shadow the whole time.

She’s thankful she has no armor, nothing to make noise as she trembles in the small alcove.

She doesn’t obey his orders. She doesn’t obey anyone’s orders, let alone the orders of the man who wishes to kill her husband. The alcove may promise safety, but it doesn’t promise any view to the uprising. And so as soon as he disappears around the corner, she’s rushing to follow him, trying to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible.

The smell of smoke gets stronger as she approaches the center of the palace, where the throne room is. As she gets closer, she can see why. Tapestries, once depicting her husband’s younger days, his pale hands holding spikes with the heads of deceased kings and clan leaders, have been burned to a crisp. The smell is pungent, and she chokes on the air as she makes her way through the halls. She’s lost the Resistance leader, but no matter. She can guess where he’s going. Her husband is a coward, this she knows, but he is vain, first. If he is to go down, he will go down beautifully. He will make sure his blood stains his throne as a reminder for the next ruler, whomever that may be.

One of the burned tapestries was once a cover over a hidden stairwell, used by servants and some lower officials. Rey takes the steps two at a time, rushing up to the second level where walkways overlook the throne room. These tapestries have not been burned, yet, and so she pushes aside the one above to find herself looking down at her husband, flanked by several guards. The Resistance has not arrived yet. Judging by the close cacophony of screams, battle cries, and orders, they are on their way.

It won’t be long until this comes to an end, one way or another.

She’s no stranger to death. Some of her earliest memories involve her grandfather’s funeral. She remembers the rare rain coming down in the desert land, remembers the feeling of it against her cheeks. She remembers her mother and her funeral garb, the fabrics darker and thicker than their usual creams and beiges. She can remember a few words of the Messenger’s prayers, but for the most part they were in the old language. She can remember ‘triumph’ and ‘remember’ and ‘honor’, and that’s it.

She knew she would see her husband’s funeral. He’s older than her by a fair amount, if he didn’t die from illness or accident he would pass from age. Now, she wonders if he will get a funeral. Or if they will burn his body, or mutilate it, or throw it off of the craggy cliffs that keep the grey sea at bay. 

His death will not result in a funeral. It will result in a festival.

The rebels enter the throne room with lips parted in screams and weapons raised. The guards move forward, and Rey’s fist clenches against the marble column she’s pressed to, knowing quite well she’s watching her fate. 

No doubt she’ll be killed once found.

But she can’t tear her eyes away, she can’t make her feet move as she watches the guards surge forward in their shining red armor, beautiful and symbolic but foolish-looking in this moment. They’re so preoccupied with the dozens of rebels rushing through the large door that they don’t notice the shadow moving towards the throne.

There’s a scream in the back of her throat. Something, some noise, to alert the Emperor, the man she was wed to in exchange for an alliance and a hefty amount of gold—

No sound escapes her closed lips.

It’s over in a matter of moments, it seems. The dark Kylo Ren runs Emperor Snoke through, the emperor’s blood staining the ornate, golden throne as he no doubt wished. Kylo Ren doesn’t seem bothered by it, though, pulling his blade from Snoke’s torso and pushing the body of the emperor to the floor. He sits as her husband bleeds all over the marble steps, his thin and withered form looking almost skeletal already, the gold robe looking gaudy now and quickly becoming red.

Kylo Ren says something. Something about sacrifice. Something about success. Something about death. Something about rebirth. She’s sure it’s very moving, and she’s sure he’s rehearsed it, knowing this morning that he was either going to speak the words or he would die with others on his lips. But she doesn’t hear any of them. There’s a roaring in her ears.

“Hey!”

There are hands on her upper arms, rough and calloused. Looking down, she sees fingertips coated in marble dust and dark blood, and then she’s being pushed forward.

“I found the Empress!”

✥

The man who killed her husband fills the throne better than the emperor had. Snoke had looked small and weak, surrounded by golden filigree and red velvet. Now, that red velvet is stained brown, dried blood settling into the golden ornamentation. The marble is cold and hard beneath her knees as the man who found her forces her to kneel.

“Telling me to kneel would have had the same effect,” she snarls, looking over her shoulder at the man. He says nothing, his dark eyes focused only on the man upon the throne.

“Nobody said anything about her having a mouth,” Kylo Ren says, his voice distorted beneath the helm he still wears.

“I'm not just a mouth," Rey hisses.

“Yes, I can see that.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a handful of servants, a handful of her maids, each held by one of the rebels. They cower and whimper, weak women who did nothing to protect their Empress, probably didn’t even think of her as they ran to hide. 

Her attention is on them, and so she doesn’t see the dark figure shift on the throne. She only just sees his head tilt, the helmet making the action almost seem comical, like a confused pup.

“What’s a pretty little one like you doing married to an old tyrant?” he asks. She can hear genuine curiosity in his voice. 

“I did not love him, if that is what you are asking,” she says simply.

“You do not mourn him.”

“I did not say that.” She doesn’t know if she should. If the sinking feeling in her stomach is mourning her husband, or mourning the life she had with him. Should she mourn such a life? There was safety, and stability. But that was it.

Kylo Ren is a large man, broad like a mountain and just as tall. He stands, and when he does, the armor he wears shifts in the light. She can see the dark splatters of her husband’s blood, and feels ill.

“Have you a reason why I should keep you alive?”

“Have you a reason to kill me?” Rey retorts, staring up at the king killer as he walks down the steps to her.

The hand that murdered Emperor Snoke lifts her chin, the smooth and supple leather of his glove warm against her skin. His thumb holds her jaw, stroking ever so slightly. She doesn’t move, staring up at the helm. She can’t see his eyes to meet them. Instead, she stares at her own reflection in the dark metal, her face shadowed and the braziers of fire glinting orange and gold behind her. She can hear him breathing. It’s harsh. Nervous, almost.

“Is your relation to him not enough?”

“I just told you I did not love him.”

“So why were you with him?" 

“That’s none of your business.” 

The hand on her jaw tightens, and Rey grits her teeth, glaring up at Kylo Ren. He says nothing for a moment, before asking, “Are there more?”

“More what?”

“Women.”

“I do not know,” she insists. “I was the only one he took to bed, if that’s what you are asking.”

“I pity you, then.”

Rey says nothing. The man’s thumb strokes her jaw for a moment more, before she’s let go.

“Make sure she is comfortable,” he says, his voice echoing slightly as he raises it. “I want her to watch her husband burn within the hour.”

“Yes, sir.” 

The hands on her arms are significantly more gentle, this time, though the blood from the man’s fingers still stains her skin. Instead of keeping her wrists held together, there is a hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the throne room.

“Right,” Rey says.

“What?”

“My chambers are to the right,” she says. “I want to wash the blood off of my arms.”

“Oh.” She’s steered right. “Do you need any women?”

The answer comes easily. “No.” She looks over her shoulder. “They did nothing wrong. Most of their husbands are merchants in the city. Let them keep their lives.”

“He didn’t have any intention of taking them.”

She wouldn’t say relief floods her, but there’s an inkling of it there. As they pass more tapestries, their edges charred but some bits of image remain, her deceased husband stares back at her. They portrayed him in his younger days, more vicious, more deadly, with the blood of thousands on his hands, on his lips…

No. She can’t say she mourns him.

✥

They sort their people from Snoke’s.

The courtyard, once filled with bushes of red flowers and carefully planted blooms and the towering statue of Emperor Snoke, is now covered in ash, rubble, blood, and bodies. Rey stands where her husband used to stand, her hands on the marble railing as she overlooks the rebels pulling bodies, closing the eyes of all before deciding where to put them. Their own men they wrap in sheets, taking care to set them aside and away from the pyre being built. The others, the guards and those who stood on Snoke’s side, are carelessly tossed in a pile to be burned. 

“Their armor wasn’t exactly effective, was it?”

“It was more for show. He likes theatrics,” she explains, before catching herself. “Liked.”

The man who found her, the man who brought her to her chambers, who stayed outside of them like a guard, stands beside her. He is older, grey in his dark, curled hair and in his beard. He’s the one who held the head of her husband’s statue aloft, the one who shouted triumphantly.

“You said you didn’t love him." 

“I didn’t.” The answer comes easily.

“Then why did you wed him?” 

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t have time to, for the doors are opening, and a man is stepping through, flanked by several of the rebels. He wears the same dark armor as Kylo Ren, but where Kylo Ren wore gloves and a helm, this man approaches her bare handed and bare headed.

He’s pale, his lips plush and nose large. His hair is waved, slightly greasy from sweat, curling around his ears and making him look even paler than if he were blond. Rey watches him approach, noting the same mountainous build, the same long strides.

He is Kylo Ren, she realizes, as he steps up beside her. For a moment, there is silence between them. The rebels continue to sort the bodies, working to honor them properly. The marble of the balcony railing is cool beneath her fingertips, the sun hot and the smoke of the now-started pyre curling up into the blue sky.

This morning started as any other day. And now she is standing next to her husband’s killer, saying nothing, doing nothing but watching as her world turns inside out and upside down.

“They will bring him out shortly.” 

Rey says nothing. She tilts her chin up and out, holding her head high. The bottom of her skirts are stained with ash, her feet dusty with it. They burned so much. The tapestries, the paintings, anything and everything that suggested the Emperor, that suggested Snoke. There are murals and mosaics, too, and she has no doubt they will be painted over or otherwise destroyed. Come morn, she wonders if there will be any trace of her husband in the palace at all, save for his blood on the throne.

“You truly are beautiful.”

Rey startles, turning and looking up at the man beside her. There’s a warmth in his voice, a dulcet softness to it that she’s never heard before from any other man. He’s staring intently down at her, his eyes a dark golden amber.

She can’t remember the color of her husband’s eyes. She wonders if she should be ashamed of that fact. 

“You killed my husband,” she says simply, holding his gaze before there is a roar of victory cries below.

They are all cheering, the dozens – no, hundreds of rebels who have gathered in the large courtyard. She knew the emperor was loathed, but she didn’t consider just how many wanted his blood spilled. They fill the courtyard, and she can see others in windows, on balconies, all wanting a glimpse at the man sprawled out on a plain slab of wood. His blood has fully stained his golden robes, his body limp and already losing color, not that it had much to begin with. Her stomach turns, and she has to focus on the pyre instead, clenching her jaw shut so that she’s not sick.

There are a few who come up, who spit on his corpse. No doubt he thought he would be kissed in death. No doubt he thought there would be tears, wails of sorrow, of despair, but instead there is laughter, cheering. 

Rey can’t say she expected either. She’s not sure what she expected. She never considered his funeral. He seemed as though he would live forever, even though she knew he wouldn’t. And she was grateful he wouldn’t.

He’s dropped, unceremoniously on the stone before the pyre. His head bounces and lolls, his hands limp against the ground, and Rey lowers her gaze to the railing.

“Snoke is dead!” the man beside her roars, to a deafening amount of cheers. 

She closes her eyes. Tears don’t come, but nausea does.

“Long live Emperor Ren!” It comes from somewhere below. Some lone, loud voice shouts it. And what started as a lone cry becomes a chant. A declaration, though it was not official. To become Emperor, there is a ceremony, she’s sure, there are priests, there are leaders, there is a celebration…

But is this not a celebration? 

She opens her eyes long enough to see two men grab her husband by his arms and by his legs. For a man of such power, of so many great and terrible deeds, to see him tossed into the flames like a rag doll is almost comical. His robe catches, she can see the flames find the fabric, but then they start to throw the rest of the bodies on top, and he is covered by those who defended him.

There weren’t many.

“May we remember this man’s actions, and seek never to repeat them.” Kylo Ren’s voice carries over the triumphant cries of the rebels. “May we cover his mark on this world and make our own. May we start anew!”

It’s a pretty thought, to start new. But she knows it will not work. Her husband’s mark is everywhere, and it will take a very, very long time to remove it. Undoing the damage done will not be so simple as burning tapestries or smashing mosaics or slashing paintings.

She watches the man beside her out of the corner of her eye, keeping her hands clasped tight on the railing as the flames grow higher and hotter. The urge to be sick only gets stronger, and increases tenfold as there is a hand on her lower back, large and warm.

“Empress Rey!”

There’s a pounding in her ears.

“Bow to her as you would bow to me, for I intend to take her as my wife!”

She’s not entirely sure how to describe the sound that is wrenched from her throat. It’s too strangled to be a gasp, too shocked to be a sob. But something emerges from her lips, some sound of shock and disbelief as she stares at her burning former husband while feeling the touch of the man who is to be her new one. 

There are lips to her ear. Unlike in the alcove, she can feel the heat of his breath, the touch of his lips against the shell. “Unless you would rather join him?”

The bodies are merely shadows in the flames.

“No.” It sounds as though she’s being strangled, though there is no hand to her throat.

“No, what?”

“I have no wish to join him.”

“A wise decision.”

Even though she can hear the slight snark in his voice, it still has that same softness. His hand remains on her lower back as she watches her world burn, her eyes focused on the bright flames until the new emperor – no, not yet, there needs to be a coronation of some sort – guides her away.

She tastes the copper of blood and the bitterness of ash on her tongue, and she swears she can still hear the crackling of the fire behind her.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story got significantly more attention than I thought it was going to. Thank you all for your wonderful comments, and for your kudos. I'm so glad you enjoyed the first chapter, and I hope I keep up with your expectations as we move into the new Age of Ren.

There are guards outside of her rooms. She can hear them talking. She can’t make out words, or syllables, but she can hear their voices. Everything is just slightly muffled, but she can’t discern whether it’s because her head feels heavy and ears feel closed, or whether it’s simply because they’re beyond the door.

Smoke rises, both from the courtyard and from the city in the distance. No doubt word is spreading already of Snoke’s death, of a new emperor on the throne. Simply sitting upon it, for now, but soon he will rule. Soon he will hold the title that her husband had. Soon he will have more power than any other man in the world.

Rey takes a shaky breath, her heart and bones still reckless. She paced the length of her rooms until her feet ached and her legs cramped, and still she’s walking. Pacing. Going to one window then the next, watching as dark smoke continues to rise. It’s not as intense as it was before, but things are still burning. Lives are still being taken, despite the news. There are followers. There are supporters. There are those who thought her husband a god, and prayed with his name on their lips instead of those of the actual gods. No doubt they will be hunted down, found, and slaughtered.

There are a handful she can think of. A few men she disliked for one reason or another. She would like to witness their blood spilled, but it’s doubtful that will happen.

A knock on the door startles her into stopping her incessant pacing. Rey looks over her shoulder, watching as the door opens before she can even give the person permission to enter. The older man steps inside, his hands still stained red from blood and his poor excuse for an armor covered in dust and ash. He walks into her rooms, and then stops, looking around at the curtains, the couches, the cushions. The sheer amount of wealth that she was never quite comfortable with.

“Nice place,” he mutters, his gaze finding the painted ceiling. All of her husband’s conquests are in bright, vibrant colors, the images featuring him in his younger days. Like everything in the palace. He showed only what he wanted to show, when he wanted to show it.

“It would be if it were not my makeshift cell,” Rey says, turning fully towards him. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat.

“If he wanted you in a cell, he would have put you in a cell. He wants to meet you soon,” the man explains, his gaze moving from her and finding a porcelain jug and a golden bowl set upon a wooden table. “… may I use some of that?”

“Use whatever you wish. It’s your palace, now,” Rey snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. She watches as the man walks towards the bowl, pouring some of the water into it before dipping his hands in. There’s a bar of soap nearby, and he takes that, as well, rubbing his hands. The suds are stained pink and brown. He scrubs up to his elbows, cleaning the dust off as well.

“It’s not my palace, it’s his,” the man explains. “And yours.”

“I highly doubt that.” 

“It’s chaos out there. He wanted you in here for your own safety. There are plenty of those who disagree with his decision,” the man says. He’s shorter, smaller than Kylo Ren, his hair curled and grey in places. He takes a cloth from beside the table, wiping his hands free of the grime they were covered in.

“My own safety,” Rey repeats.

“Aye. He sent me to see how you were.”

“My husband is dead, and I am to marry his murderer.”

The man hesitates, staring at her. “… so … should I tell him well, or unwell?”

Rey stares at him, mouth slightly parted in surprise at his casualness. “How are you so…?” she starts, trailing off. “Never mind.”

“No,” the man insists, stepping towards her. “How am I so what? Handsome? Charming?" His voice is too light, too lilting for the weight of the situation, and Rey's eyes narrow.

“How can you be joking when the ashes of the former emperor are in the courtyard, when there is blood in the halls, and when you all killed so many?” Rey hisses. “My life, your life, your leader’s life has been irreversibly changed, and you’re standing here joking like a fool.”

“And your husband is dead, and yet I see no tears, no mourning,” the man says, once again so casual it makes her blood boil. “What kind of wife are you that you don't even mourn your husband?”

“An unwilling one!” It's almost a shout. She steps closer, damn near baring her teeth at him. “Marrying him was not my choice. I will not thank you for taking him from me, but I will not damn you, either.”

The man stares at her, blinking in surprise. And then -- “… you do have a mouth on you.” A grin, slightly crooked, creeps upon his lips.

Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes, walking back to the couch and settling down, purposefully putting her back to him. She hears his footsteps, retreating. And then there is the slam of the door, forceful enough that she winces.

The air still smells of blood and smoke and fear.

✥

Time slugs by. The guards still speak, and she still strains to hear them to no avail.

By mid-afternoon, the smoke has stopped, at least in the city. The pyre in the courtyard still burns, bodies still being chucked into the flames. She watches from the balcony, seeing a few familiar faces. Some of Snoke’s advisors, hungry for fame and fortune in their last few years. They probably never considered that those years would be cut short in such a way.

There are others. Maids she recognizes. Servants she’d seen but never learned their names. Thankfully no one she knows. Thankfully no one she cares for…

The sky is just beginning to darken when the man comes back. He still knocks, and still enters without a word from her. “He wants to see you.”

The remains of the tapestries have been brought down. The rods they were woven to lay bare along the stone walls. She almost trips over the rubble of a mosaic, the bits of colored marble that were once Snoke’s cape, Snoke’s armor, Snoke’s horse now just pebbles and dust.

She looks down at the destroyed image, feeling the man’s hand upon her arm as he pulls her forward. It’s much gentler than it was before, though. A guide, not a force.

She’s brought not to the throne room, as she expected the new emperor to be, but to her husband’s private rooms. Just seeing the door makes her feel ill, and she swallows the burning rush of bitter bile in the back of her throat. The rebel coaxes her forward, though, keeping a gentle hand on her wrist as he knocks.

“Enter.” 

Her husband’s rooms are vast. There is the main room, where he received visitors. Royals from kingdoms and heads of clans he would eventually betray and slaughter. The couches, rich reds and gaudy golds, look so inelegant now. There is a desk just to the right, the stained glass window of his insignia already shattered, cool air coming in from the outside. She can see the darkness of night in the distance, the office overlooking the city he once commanded.

There’s another door across the main sitting room. It opens as they walk forward, and Kylo Ren emerges from what was her husband’s bedroom. Behind him, she can just see the red curtains of the bed she once knew. The bile comes back, and she resists the urge to choke on it as the new emperor closes the door behind him.

“Poe, you may leave.”

Her wrist is released, and she’s left to stand on her own in front of the man who is to be the new emperor, the man who is to be her new husband.

The man – Poe, she knows, now – leaves. She can hear the door close behind him, and then there is silence.

She’s seen him up close twice before, but this is different. This time they are alone. Completely and utterly, though she would bet all of the riches that Snoke gave her over the years that Poe is standing just outside.

“… what are you thinking?”

There’s that voice. That deep, dark, dulcet voice. For a man who slaughtered the emperor and is now in his place, he sounds unsure. Nervous, almost. There’s a shake to his words that she wasn’t expecting.

“It would be impossible to put all of my thoughts into words,” Rey confesses, trying to keep her chin high in defiance of this man. “There are too many.”

“Try.”

This man’s presence is far darker than her husband’s ever was, but there is less threat to him despite all that has happened. Her lungs feel as though they are trembling, but the rest of her remains still. She can recall Snoke snapping at her to stop shaking the first time she met him, as though she had any control. 

She takes her time answering. His eyes are on her the entire time, a warm amber. Curious. Waiting. “I find myself thinking of what is to change,” Rey explains.

“Everything,” he answers immediately. “For the better.”

“I will make my own decision as to whether marrying you is a welcome change or a terrible one,” Rey says, her tone sharp as she looks up at him. Gods, he is tall. Snoke was tall, too, but he did not have the muscles, the build that Kylo Ren has. No, he was scarred, a siege gone horribly, terribly wrong.

Kylo Ren says nothing, instead taking a step towards her. She takes a step back. He repeats his action, she repeats hers, until she feels something at her back. By the time she realizes what it was, it’s already falling, and she turns just in time to see the vase fall, a gift from some king Snoke eventually killed. It crashes to the floor, exploding upon contact with the wood. Painted porcelain scatters, and she stares at what once was.

It’s strange, that an ugly vase would be the catalyst for her own shattering. Immediately tears come to her eyes, clouding her vision. One moment she sees shards of clay, the next it’s a blur of white and brown and green. There’s a tightness in her throat that makes it difficult to breathe. There’s a heaviness to her head that makes it difficult to think. And before she can fully realize what’s happening, the floor is becoming closer. 

The world goes dark before she can feel arms around her, saving her from landing face-first in the ruins of the vase.

✥

“She was overwhelmed.”

“I see.”

Both of the voices are familiar, one more so than the other.

_Thank Gods, they let him live... _

The first thing she sees is dark skin, skin she knows, and lips she’s seen thousands of times before, in smiles and in speech.

“Finn.” It’s a low breath as a hand comes to her brow, cool and gentle. She closes her eyes again, though the world seems just as dark as it is behind her lids. Night must have fallen while she was out.

Her favorite guard cups her cheek, thumb stroking her skin. “Yes, I’m here.”

“He fought with us.” Poe’s voice comes from somewhere to her left.

“It was an easier decision than I expected,” Finn says.

Rey opens her eyes once more, her gaze finding her friend’s as she reaches to touch his hand, holding it to her cheek. “And Rose?” 

“Safe.”

“Thank the Gods,” Rey groans, her head sinking further into the pillow behind it. Rose wasn’t one of her maids, no, she assisted with fixing things around the palace. With a small figure and even smaller hands, she’s able to fit into places the men couldn’t. Rey’s never seen her clean, she doesn’t think, but she’s never seen her without a smile, either.

“Most of the staff have fled,” Finn explains. She closes her eyes, relishing in the gentle touch of his thumb stroking along her cheekbone. 

“I can’t imagine why,” she mumbles sarcastically, reaching up to massage her temple, trying to get the pulsing behind her brow to stop.

“Water, can you get some water?” Finn asks. Rey hears the footsteps, the gentle thud of boots against the marble of her floor. Within moments, there’s a cool metal cup pressed to her lips, the water so sweet on her tongue as she drinks eagerly. She ate breakfast, she realizes, before everything started to burn. She had breakfast, but no food, no water since. It’s no coincidence that her head is pounding.

“Here. Up.”

Finn’s hand is gentle on her back, guiding her to sit up properly. She’s not in her bed, no. She’s on one of the couches in her own sitting room. The fire is dimming, the braziers low. It’s a wonder she recognized Finn in the darkness, recognized where she was at all, it’s so lowly lit. She can barely recognize Poe in the shadows, the fire glinting off of the metal and leather of his armor.

“I’ll go let him know you’re awake,” Poe explains.

“Thank you,” Finn says, turning to the commander. Poe nods, turning and leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Rey watches him go, before she’s grabbing Finn’s hand and raising it to her lips, kissing his fingertips.

“I know,” the young man insists, sitting beside her on the bed. “I know, Rey." 

It’s not mourning. There’s nothing really to mourn. That’s not the word for what she’s feeling. She’s not entirely sure _if_ there’s a word for what she’s feeling. Regret? No. Despair? No, neither of those fit. It’s something else entirely. Something that doesn’t have a name, but makes her chest feel heavy and her hands shake as she holds onto Finn’s. The tears are coming steadily, now, as Finn squeezes her fingers.

“He was awful,” she confesses, because he was. “He was terrible… so why do I cry?”

“I can’t say,” Finn replies. And that’s fine, she didn’t expect him to have an answer. She’s not sure she’ll ever find one herself, either. But when Poe returns, she’s shed enough tears to soak the front of her gown and Finn’s shirt, where she had rested her head upon his shoulder.

He was terrible, awful. Cruel and cold to her, ignoring her for the most part, except to give her trinkets and treats, assuming that he could buy her affection like he bought her hand from her parents.

And yet he was what she knew.

_Is that mourning?_

✥

Finn was right. Most of the staff has fled. The halls of the palace are emptier than she’s ever seen, and in more chaos than she could have ever imagined as dawn rises on the second day of the new age.

Poe had said something about hiring staff. They would look for cooks, for gardeners, for servants who would be willing to support the new empire and be paid a fair amount. Rey has no idea what they were paid before. It wasn’t something that crossed her mind often, and it wasn’t something she brought up to her maids, or Finn, or Rose.

She’ll have to ask them when she sees them again.

“He’s already planning for a coronation,” Poe explains, when he brings a small tray of breakfast, cheeses and meats and bread and some fruit.

“It won’t be as grand as Snoke’s,” she mutters, recalling the tales of the man’s extravagant celebration. Gold everywhere, exotic animals, silks and velvets and the finest foods and wines. She wasn’t there for it. She wasn’t even alive for it. But their wedding was almost as grand, if not just as much so. The day was a blur to her, but she can remember jewels, gold, words being said about commitment and love and honor.

Their marriage had none of that.

“No, it won’t be. That’s the point. Money won’t be wasted on frivolous things,” Poe explains, sitting across from her. “It will be spent where it is needed.”

Isn’t that a pretty thought? To spend the money in her late husband’s coffers where it will actually be helpful to the people of the empire, instead of gold-covered fruit bowls.

The grapes taste sour. The meat is too salty. The bread is bland. She knows that they’re all fine and good and of high quality, that they should be truly delicious because Snoke demanded everything to be, but the past day has not only created ash in the courtyard, but on her tongue. 

Kylo Ren summons her, again, and Poe walks her to the rooms once more. It’s for her protection, he insists. 

“There are plenty who disagree with his decision to keep you alive, let alone marry you,” Poe explains.

“Are you one of them?” she demands, her sandals slapping against the marble, significantly louder than the soft soles of his boots.

“No,” Poe replies simply. “I think you could be useful. So does he.”

“Useful,” Rey repeats bitterly. “Everything a man wants in a wife. Useful.”

“And beautiful.”

“It’s too late for flattery.”

“It’s never too late to flatter a gorgeous woman.”

“Stop that," she snaps.

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.” It’s teasing.

“Not until we have an emperor, and I am his wife,” she insists. “For now, I’m just Rey.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘just’.”

They arrive at the door before he can explain what he means, and unlike before, he simply opens it without bothering to knock. Rey steps inside first, seeing the emperor-to be sitting on one of the couches, a cup of wine in one hand and a some pieces of parchment in the other.

He wears no armor today. There’s no need for it, not when the fighting is done and the rebuilding is beginning. Instead, the man is in a plain tunic and trousers, the tunic just as pale as his skin and trousers dark like the bark of the trees in the back garden. He no longer looks like the intimidating shadow he was before. He looks … more human. 

She stands still before him, her hands clasped in front of her and every muscle in her body taught like a wire as Poe steps forward, pouring more wine into the glass that Kylo Ren extends without even looking up from the parchment he has in his hands. Once the gentle sound of the wine has stopped, her husband-to-be looks up.

“Your husband was a very rich man,” he says, looking her up and down with dark amber eyes.

“Yes,” Rey replies.

“I don’t suppose you know how much he has in his coffers?” 

“I don’t,” Rey confesses, trying desperately not to rock on her heels as her heartbeat starts to quicken. “I know there is plenty. Too much for one man, certainly. He would give me gifts daily.”

“Like?”

“Gold. Jewels. Diadems. Pendants. Need I continue?”

“No,” Kylo Ren says, nodding at Poe when the man raises another empty glass in question. Rey watches as Poe pours the dark red liquid into the crystal cup. It’s a gaudy thing, cut to sparkle in the light and rimmed with gold. Then again, what of her late husband’s wasn’t gaudy? Expensive? Unnecessary?

She was one of those. And she’s fairly sure she knows which category she fell into.

“You came from Jakku,” Kylo says.

“Yes.”

Kylo watches her carefully, taking a sip of his wine. His hands are large, making the crystal glass look miniscule. “… we will have a joint wedding and coronation.”

“A fair decision.” 

“You have no wish for a separate celebration?”

“A celebration?” Rey asks, raising a brow. “Is that what you’d call it?”

“Ceremony,” Kylo corrects. “Do you not want a separate ceremony?” 

“I had my grand, expensive wedding ceremony,” Rey says simply, watching him as he takes yet another sip of the wine. The darkness of it is staining his plush lips. “I have no wish for another one.” 

“Do you wish for a new dress? Jewels?” 

“Despite what my late husband assumed, my affection cannot and will not be bought,” Rey snaps. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Poe’s dark eyebrows arch, though Kylo Ren regards her with the same flat expression he did before. 

“I wasn’t attempting to bribe you, or buy your affection. I know very well that I likely will never receive it. I do, however, have need for your insight into the empire.”

“I wasn’t given a position of power.”

“You were the Empress.”

“In title only,” Rey explains. “If you’re seeking someone who knows the ins and outs of the empire so that you may turn the ins into outs and the outs into ins, then I regret to inform you that it’s likely their ashes blew away in the wind last night.”

It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely a truth, either. She knows some things. Some things she has no intent on ever telling him. But she doesn’t know everything, either.

Still. She knows more than she lets on.

There are two pairs of dark eyes on her, and she knows quite well that she just gave them yet another weight to add to the scale of whether to kill her, or whether to let her live. She also knows quite well that with each smart remark she makes, the ‘kill her’ side becomes heavier and heavier.

“But you know more than I do,” Kylo Ren finally says. “And in that you are valuable.”

Valuable. She’s familiar with the concept, when it comes to gems and jewels and gold and dyes and crystal and other sorts of things. She’s never been called valuable herself, and she blinks in surprise to be referred to in such a way. Valuable. 

She has no idea what to say, and she’s saved by a knock on the door. Within a heartbeat, a man with red hair is stepping inside. Rey’s never seen him before, can’t recall the shock of brilliant copper in the crowd of the rebels. Then again, there were thousands of them. Thousands who wanted her husband dead, likely more across the empire… 

“Emperor Ren.” His voice is ever so slightly nasally, his back straight as a column and nose turned up. “Empress Rey.”

She bites her tongue. Not yet, he is not emperor yet, and she is no longer the empress. Why is this so difficult for them to understand? Regardless of what happened yesterday, there are rules to follow, customs to abide to that are much, much older than Snoke was… 

“Speak, General Hux,” Kylo Ren says.

General. Rey almost scoffs. They think themselves an army? Or is he already appointing positions, like he appointed himself the most powerful position of all?

“We’ve found a few willing to work in the kitchens.”

“Wonderful.” Kylo looks towards Poe. “And of the gardens?” 

“We’re working on it, sir,” General Hux explains. “They wish for housing, and for fair wages.”

“It will be done.”

No clue of the contents of the coffers, of the state of the city, and yet he’s already ordering for housing and fair wages. There are servants quarters, sure, but does he know how many apartments it has? How many rooms, how many beds? 

“How many are there?” Rey demands, looking towards the redheaded man.

He regards her with something like disgust, his nose turning up and one copper eyebrow raising in question before he’s looking to Kylo Ren.

“Tell her,” the man insists.

“There are fifteen,” Hux explains. “Seven cooks. Eight gardeners.”

“And their families?” Rey demands, narrowing her eyes at him. “Wives? How many children?”

“Why does it matter?”

“There are servant’s quarters, but there are limited apartments, rooms, beds,” she insists. “You need to know how much room you have, if more housing is needed before you go collecting willing workers. You also need to know if there is enough in the coffers to pay what they are demanding. The second day of a new age, and already you may be making empty promises to the people you swore to help.” 

Rey doesn’t see the look that Poe gives the new emperor. One of knowing, of satisfaction, of amusement.

The redheaded man opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He closes his lips, before looking to Kylo Ren and coughing. “… I’ll go see about counting the rooms, and beds.” 

The mighty Kylo Ren says nothing as General Hux leaves, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. The two remaining crystal cups, part of the set of four, clatter with the force. Poe reaches to steady them, looking to Rey as he does so. 

“For someone who claims to know nothing, you know a lot,” Poe observes. 

“It’s not knowing. It’s common sense. If you’re going to provide housing and fair wages, you have to make sure you have the space and you have the gold,” Rey says, her voice harder than she means for it to be. 

The emperor-to-be says nothing, his glass still cradled in his large hand as he observes her. She can feel the weight of his gaze on him, and turns her head, meeting it directly. She stares at him in return, holding his stare.

He’s the one to break, turning to look at his second in command. “Take her back to her rooms,” he mutters. His gaze moves back to Rey. “I want the names of those who may be alive, who may be of use.”

“It will be a short list,” she says.

“But it is a list.”

“Yes.” She can think of a few names, a few advisors. It’s more than likely their souls have joined that of their beloved emperor, but the old man who took care of the library, the woman who took care of the archives…

It’s a short list, but yes, he’s right. There is a list.

“Give it to Poe.”

And with that, he’s looking back down at whatever paper is in his hand. Rey waits, watching as Poe refills the man’s wine cup before he’s standing and moving to her. He makes no move to guide her, his hands remaining at his side instead of coming to her arm or waist. She follows him regardless, eager to leave the space of her late husband’s murderer, eager to stop breathing the same air as her future husband. Her chest feels tight as she leaves the room, feeling the warmth of Poe beside her.

“That was smart. The housing. I told you you were useful.”

“That’s not being useful, that’s being logical,” Rey explains as they walk back through the rubble of the mosaics and the ash of the tapestries. It hasn’t been swept up yet, and stone and glass crunches beneath the leather of her sandals. “If he wishes for his name to be praised instead of cursed like my husband's was, then he can’t start with making empty promises to his people. Else it will be a very quick rule."

“Very wise,” Poe says, and she detects a bit of humor in his voice. She turns, glaring at him and seeing his amused smirk. “I’m not fooling, it is wise.”

Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes. She also finds herself resisting the urge to smirk, herself.

He’s more entertaining, far more personable, and far warmer than any of Snoke’s guards had ever been, she’ll give him that.

It would be beneficial to have an ally in the new age they seem so intent on ushering in.

She hopes he continues to be one.


	3. III.

It’s easier than she expected to find staff to fill the palace and get things moving as they were before.

She knew that the idea of a new age, a new emperor, was appealing, but she didn’t expect for so many supporters to come out of the woodwork. Within the next two days, there are more familiar faces around the palace. They fled when there was danger, but once no more blood was spilled, and word spread of the palace needing people, they returned. There are perhaps twenty, maybe thirty faces she knows from her life before, and while she should feel betrayed that they so readily returned after their emperor’s death, she can only nod at them as she passes them.

Perhaps the most jarring change is the courtyard she’s seen every day for the past four years. Where there were once bushes with bright red blooms there is now dark dirt, and as she goes for a walk to clear her ever-muddled head, she can see many new faces kneeling on the soil. Where the first garden was impeccable, every bloom the same and pruned to perfection, they are planting all kinds of different flowers. It’s not until she asks Poe about it that she’s told there was a call for plants, flowers, herbs, and those in support of the new emperor came with greenery from their own gardens. 

The symbolism of the new garden doesn’t escape her, and she stands on the balcony for a good half an hour after it’s explained, watching as men and women come together to plant new life quite literally on the ashes of the old empire.

She doesn’t see her husband-to-be for two days. Poe says there’s much to be done, and yes, she understands that. There is much to be done, both before and after the coronation that’s being planned. There will be plenty to do for years, for generations, even, to undo the hurts her late husband caused.

The dust and ash is swept away. Skilled artisans come in and kneel upon the palace floors, their chisels and hammers cutting clean lines along the mosaics. While the weapons of the rebels were surprisingly effective in destroying the art, it wasn’t exactly the cleanest method. By the time crickets start to sing and evening starts to fall on the third day of the new age, all of the mosaics have been cut away, and she can see an artisan sitting beneath a sconce, a board and piece of parchment on his lap as he sketches out something new. Something to represent what is to come. 

There is so much more humanity in the palace, she notices. More than she’d ever seen with Snoke.

It doesn’t ease the heaviness that remains in her chest, though, or the tears that insist upon coming regardless of what she’s thinking.

There’s a woman named Amilyn who comes to her one morning with a length of leather, numbers and lines burned into it. “For your gown,” she explains, and Rey stands, frowning at her.

“I didn’t order for a gown,” Rey protests, sure there’s some mistake.

“I know. He did.”

She should have known there would be a tactic in this, as well. Kylo Ren is very visual. Between his armor when he killed Snoke, to the garden outside, to removing all of the images of her late husband, he is painting a picture of the new empire with everything he does.

And apparently that includes her coronation and wedding gown, as well.

The tight bodice of her gown is undone, the dress itself abandoned but her undershift left for modesty as Amilyn measures her shoulders, her arms, her wrists, the width of her ribcage just beneath her breasts, the width of her hips. Poe reclines on one of the couches, Finn on the other, watching as she’s measured.

“Do you know what he has planned?” Rey asks, looking to Poe.

“No, and I don’t think he knows, either,” Poe replies, his arms spread over the back of the couch and legs crossed in a picture of masculine ease. “He just knows he wants different.”

Different. It’s a broad description, very broad, too broad for her comfort as Amilyn finishes and leaves. Finn comes to her side without her even asking, helping her back into her gown. As she holds the bodice to her chest so that he can lace it in the back, she comes to realize just how heavy it is. Brocade rich with embroidery, the colors vibrant and rich. Wealth. Always wealth with Snoke. She can recall her youth, her days in Jakku when her garments were one layer and thin, soft to the touch and creams and ivories to reflect the heat rather than absorb it. They let her breathe, let her move, let her run.

They let her be free.

Not for the first time that day, her eyes decide to tear up as she feels Finn pull the laces tight, and once again she is restricted. Held in place. Captive.

She can recall thinking the same when she was presented with her wedding gown, the heaviness of the gems and pearls and embroidery literally taking her breath away and not letting her inhale fully for the entirety of the ceremony, and the celebration afterwards. She felt weighted down, but after years of wearing similar gowns, she’s gotten used to it…

Compliant.

She’d become compliant to a lot of things, she supposes.

✥

“He wants to see you.”

It’s day three, or rather night three. The sun set hours ago, the dark of night descending like a gentle beast. She’s awake only because her mind will not let her rest. She hasn’t rested much in the past few days, and it’s starting to show in the darkened skin under her eyes. 

“At this hour?” she asks, a cup of wine in her hand. A last resort in an attempt to finally achieve some peace in her heart, in her head, in hopes of sleep. She frowns, the candlelight flickering across Poe’s features. It was obvious the man was asleep, his curls wild and voice groggy. 

“Someone told him that they saw light under your door,” Poe groans, running his hand down his face and then rubbing at his eyes. “Just… humor him. Please.”

“Humor the man who killed my husband and is forcing me to marry him.”

“I don’t suppose a ‘please’ will be sufficient.”

“No,” Rey says, but she sets her glass of wine down, and stands anyway.

She doesn’t bother with the heaviness of a gown, because she’s been getting Finn to help her the past few days, and he’s more than likely in his room, already turned in and asleep at this hour. After the past four years of being one of her guards and dearest friends, he's the only one she trusts to see her undressed entirely, aside from Rose, but with all the rebels destroyed, Rey hasn't actually seen the woman. Finn assures her Rose is fine, though, and happy to be busy. Happy to be part of the new age alongside her sister. 

Rey hadn't recognized Paige in the crowd of thousands when Snoke was killed, but apparently she helped burn and break along with the others.

Rey grabs a heavy velvet robe, yet another gift from Snoke, the vines and flowers and branches embroidered those of every land he’s ever conquered. It’s one of the few things she truly enjoyed from him, she thinks, pulling the loose braid of her hair over her shoulder, wrapping her arms around herself before she starts to follow Poe. So little of his gifts had meaning, except for the fact they were meant to appease her, and remind her that he owned her, as well as everything he gave her.

Rey’s glad she grabbed the robe. The halls are cold, the wind off the sea and the lack of light making everything chilled. It’s a long walk from her rooms to the emperor’s. It was like that for a reason, she knows that quite well. There are a set of rooms alongside the emperor’s that were supposed to be those of the empress, but they haven’t been used in years, except for storage. 

She wonders if she will be moved to them.

He’s standing in front of the fire when they enter, staring at the flames.

“Can you escort her back?” Poe calls.

“Yes," Ren says, not looking away from the fire.

“Good. I’m going back to sleep.”

There’s a warmth between the two of them that Rey’s never seen between Snoke and anyone, let alone any of his advisors or generals or anyone else under his command. She watches Poe go, closing the door behind him, and out of the corner of her eye she can see the emperor-to-be shake his head ever so slightly, dark waves moving in her peripheral.

“Forgive me.”

Rey turns, looking to Ren. He’s turned his head towards her, but his body is still facing the flames.

“No,” Rey says simply.

Kylo stares at her for half of a moment before, “Forgive me for calling for you at this hour. I don’t expect forgiveness for anything else I’ve done.”

“Good. You won’t get it.”

The emperor-to-be moves from the fire, stepping towards her. Rey holds her ground, keeping her arms crossed tight across her chest. There’s a power in the way that he walks, his strides long. Snoke had the same power, but it came from years of conquering, years of death, years of battles and many, many years of thinking himself higher above anyone else, including the gods. 

“Poe told me about Snoke," Ren says.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Rey says, looking up at him. In the past few days, he’s become scruffy, dark hair along his jawline and cheeks.

“He told me that you were unwillingly his wife. That you were forced to marry Snoke. That you told him this.”

“I did.”

“I want to know more about your relationship with Snoke.”

“If you think I’m going to tell you anything regarding my time as his wife, then you are very, very mistaken,” Rey snaps, her hands tightening on her arms as she glares up at him. “You have no right to that information, and neither does anyone else, until I decide who is worthy of it.”

“Interesting how you’re so protective of that information.”

“Interesting how you think I’m just going to sit down with a cup of tea and indulge the details of my intimacy with my dead husband to the man who killed him!” Rey hisses.

The sound of one of the logs on the fire breaking startles both of them, sparks flying in the fireplace but none landing on the nearby floor. Rey stares at the flames far longer than Ren does, recalling the shadow of Snoke’s body in the pyre, the darkened and charred bodies of his advisors, his supporters, commanders and generals…

It seems like it was just an hour ago, but also a year ago. She would bet all of the gems, all of the gold thread, every trinket she owns that even a decade from now the image will be burned behind her eyes.

“Was it consummated?”

Rey’s head snaps towards Ren, so quickly and so suddenly that she almost hears it crack. “What?” There’s a flatness to her voice, a coldness to it as she narrows her eyes at the man. _“What?”_

“It’s a basic question,” Ren says, his voice having the same hardness, his eyes no longer that warm amber she once thought they were. “And one I would like to know the answer to." 

“It’s a question I don’t _need_ to answer,” Rey hisses, uncrossing her arms and taking a step towards him. He doesn’t even flinch, looking down at her as she strides into his space. “I repeat, the details of my intimacy with my deceased husband will be shared when I decide to share them, and I will _not_ be sharing them with the man who killed him.”

“If we are to be wed, then I want to know.”

“Let me remind you that our union was your choice, not mine,” Rey snarls. “If you want some pure, sweet and obedient fawn I implore you to look in another forest, not one you tried to burn down and declare yours!” 

“I will ask again, was it—"

Her hand lashes out, but she doesn’t get the chance to slap him across the face like she so wants to. He’s faster than she is, hand reaching up and grasping her wrist. His grip is tight for half of a moment, before it’s loosening. He doesn’t let her go, though. His thumb brushes against her pulse, his skin rough and calloused. Snoke hadn’t picked up a blade in years, and Rey doubts he even picked up a pen, preferring not to lift a finger at all. His skin was soft, wrinkled, cool to the touch. Kylo Ren’s is everything opposite, the warmth of his palm against her wrist making her breath hitch and the subtle stroking of his thumb over her rapid pulse so much gentler than anything Snoke ever did to her.

He holds onto her for a half a heartbeat more before he lets go. She lets her hand fall to her side as he turns her cheek to her, as though—

As though offering himself to her.

“I deserve it, if you wish to try again. I will not stop you.”

There’s that lowness to his voice, that softness she heard a handful of times before. Despite the heat in her chest, and the irritation that still lingers that he would dare ask her such a personal detail, she doesn’t raise her hand to him. She waits, seeing the realization dawn in his eyes that she’s not going to hit him, and then she turns away from him.

There’s no goodbye. There’s no goodnight. Snoke would make a point of bidding her farewell on the nights she did not spend in his bed, wishing her the sweetest dreams in the softest voice. It should have been kind, it should have been endearing, but she never thought it so. Not with the way he said it. Not with the way he spoke as though dreams were damned things, his voice only sweet enough to cover up the bitterness of his opinion.

The halls are almost pitch black as she leaves the emperor’s rooms, the sconces low without enough nightly guardsmen to tend to them. She just barely hears Kylo Ren call out, but she doesn’t hear what he says as she lifts the skirt of her shift and the hem of her robe into her hands to lengthen her strides. Tears come once more, clouding her vision and making all of the low sconces blur into simple flickers.

Her room has never felt so much like a sanctuary. The fires have dimmed, the one in the fireplace just barely crackling, but it’s warmer and more inviting and more familiar than the rooms of the emperor. The wine is just where she left it, but instead of grabbing the cup of it, she grabs the bottle by the neck and drinks straight from that. It’s dark and sweet, a few drops escaping the corners of her mouth and mixing with the tears rolling down her cheeks and down her chin.

_Was it consummated? _

No.

The simple answer is no. The reason _why_ it wasn’t is much, much more complicated, but the answer is _no._

Rey takes another swig of the wine, feeling it roll down her chin and down between her breasts, no doubt staining the white of her shift. But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care at all, not when the wine makes her head feel light and her chest feel warm and everything else feel so small. 

There’s a creak of the door, and before she can even comprehend what she’s doing, her hand is already throwing the bottle and a fury-filled, strangled scream is leaving her throat. The glass shatters against the wood of the door, the pressure in her chest relieved only slightly. Wine pools on the ground, the dark glass intermingling with the dark alcohol as she stares at the mess she created, breathing heavy and heartbeat thumping between her ears. 

Poe pokes his head around the corner, his eyes wide as he peers around the wood, seeing the wine, the glass, the dark red liquid dripping off of the wood and landing on the floor with gentle drips to fill the silence.

“Don’t,” Rey growls, lifting a hand to point at him, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t say a _damn _thing.”

He doesn’t. Gods bless him. 

He steps inside, sidestepping the puddle of vice and glass. Her breath is still heavy as he crosses to the basin, grabbing a swath of white muslin. He’s still silent as he wipes up the wine, collecting as much of the glass as he can into the cloth without cutting his fingers. Rey feels as though her feet are nailed to the marble floor, even though she knows she should help to clean up the mess caused by her fury. 

Most of the wine and glass cleaned up, Poe turns, dumping the cloth into a random vase without even looking at it.

“That was a gift from the prince of Illyra,” Rey says suddenly, cutting through the silence. Poe’s gaze shifts towards her, before he looks back down into the vase, peering into it. 

“Did it have anything of importance in it?” he asks, still looking inside at the wine-soaked, glass-filled rag. His voice echoes ever so slightly, bouncing back out of the porcelain.

“I-I don’t believe so.”

“Good. We’ll deal with cleaning it out in the morning,” he mutters, pulling back and turning from her.

He leaves without a goodbye, without a goodnight. She’s grateful for it. She’s sure the words would break her, even as well-intentioned as they might be. He just turns, closing the door behind him and leaving her in her wine-stained shift and tear-stained cheeks.

✥

She keeps the curtains around her bed closed until well into the morning. She hears Finn’s voice, hears his announcement of breakfast, but after a quick conversation about the sticky, purple stain by the door, and the few dark glass shards that remain stuck to the marble, he leaves her with a gentle kiss to her brow and a pitcher of sweet, cool water.

It’s the fourth day of the new age, and she’s never felt so exhausted in her entire life. Everything hurts.

For the past few days, she has kept her chin up and shoulders back and spine straight. She has kept her eyes hard and her head high. But now her shoulders ache, and her head throbs, and her eyes feel so dry after so many tears shed the night before. And so she keeps them closed, drifting in and out of sleep and wakefulness. There’s the occasional kiss to her temple, fingers brushing her hair away from her face. When she opens her eyes, there’s a new pitcher after she drank the entirety of the first one.

“He wants to apologize,” Poe says in the early afternoon, after she’s sat up in bed, her hair no doubt a mess and head still hurting, even after all the water.

“I don’t want him here,” Rey snaps. “And I’m not going to him, either.” 

“So-“

“I won’t hear him, today.”

She didn’t expect for him to take it so well, but when Poe returns after delivering the news, he only tells her that her gown is being made, and should be ready for the coronation in a week’s time.

A weeks time before she is wed again. 

“Are there to be elephants?” she demands as Finn sits beside her, his hand coming to her knee and rubbing gently.

Poe blinks at her in surprise. “Not that I’ve heard of?”

“Good.”

Poe doesn’t ask. For that she’s glad.

✥

For all that they removed that contained his image from the palace, her late husband is still everywhere to her.

He is in the gown she pulls on in the early evening, wanting to get some fresh air, wanting to look over the balcony near the cliffs. He is in the choker that she ties around her neck, the silk ribbons cool and the gems sparkling in the low light. He is in the pin she uses to pull her hair up and off of her neck, the combination of heavy waves of hair and heavy fabric and the choker just a bit too much for her.

He lingers in the hallways, in the throne room she passes by on the way to the overlook, in the cliffs themselves as she stands and feels the cool sea breeze on her cheeks, the salt of the sea mixing and becoming almost indistinguishable with the dried salt of tears on her cheeks.

It’s a blessing that no one disturbs her. She’s given the opportunity to stand at the railing and watch the sea crash against the rocks, the rhythmic sound a balm to her aching soul.

She remembers one of the first days she came here, after a month of travel from Jakku. She’d never seen the sea, had never seen so much water in her entire life. Coming from a desert kingdom where water was scarce and almost considered a luxury, it was shocking to her that someone could have so much of it just beyond their palace. Even though she was told it was not drinkable, the sight of it, the sight of waves and seeing the sun sparkling on the rippling surface for the very first time is still one of her fondest memories.

Snoke had let her swim, during her first week. It was one of her happier days, despite slipping on one of the rocks and scraping her thigh and ass cheek badly enough that the scar still remains to this day. She remembers the sea breeze against her face, the cool water against her skin, the way her hair curled from the salt. Her skin was sticky from salt and sand, and she left a trail of grainy, salty footsteps on the palace floors when she finally came back inside. She can recall amount of shells she brought back, cradled in the fabric of her shift, not yet understanding that it was not proper to raise her shift above her ankles in the presence of the court. Snoke insisted upon taking the shells from her, and within a week there were pendants, chokers, diadems, necklaces on her bed, her shells covered in gold and surrounded by emeralds and rubies.

She liked them better as they were before, still smelling of salt and sun and sand.

When she expressed this, he forbade her from ever going to the shore again. She was called a brat. Ungrateful. Did she not understand the sacrifices he’d made for her? Did she not appreciate his gifts?

But no matter. A hand to her cheek. Her beauty made up for it, he assured her. So beautiful. So young. So sweet. Come, sit beside me, _let me show my men what little diamond I found in the rough—_

Bile burns in the back of her throat, and it’s only because of the cool breeze that she isn’t sick over the railing. 

The sunset is a flaming orange and red. She forces herself to watch it, forces herself to find beauty in the fire as her hands clutch at the marble railing, knuckles white and stomach still churning.

Crickets have begun to play their symphony to the stars when she hears soft footsteps.

“They were wondering where you were," Rose says. Rey turns, seeing the woman for the first time since the uprising, and she relishes in the relief that fills her chest at her familiar face. Rey allows herself a grin as she strides forward, kissing Rose on the cheek and wrapping her up in a hug.

"Gods, it's good to see you," she breathes. Her cheeks are unused to the action of smiling, and they ache, feeling tight as she continues to hold the other woman close.

Rose’s hand is sweet in hers, though it’s calloused from working to repair what the Resistance destroyed. Still, the warmth is comforting, and she squeezes the other woman’s hand tighter than is probably comfortable as they walk back to her rooms.


	4. IV.

The fifth morning comes with a soft, misting rain. It’s not unusual, given that they’re right off of the sea, but she found she ached for it in the past few days. The gentle sound of the water hitting the roof and her balcony is a balm to her uneasy soul, and so she stays inside her room for the first few hours of the day, watching the water pound against the marble railing and smelling the cool, clean rain. 

By the time Rey actually sits up, it’s well into the morning, and the clouds have only just ceased their pouring and moved on. Finn came by with wine, juice, and pastries, the work of some new chef. Indulgent though he was, Snoke didn’t care that much for sweets, and so she savors every last bite, making a mental note to ask Poe who to thank for the treats. 

There are no tears on her cheeks yet, neither fresh and shining nor old and dried. She knows they’re probably coming – tears are odd, fickle things, as are emotions – but for now she is given a moment of peace.

She’s used to someone knocking on her door right when she finds some quiet. Poe knocks, Finn knocks, Rose knocks. They never ask her permission to come in, because that’s just the way they all are, but she is familiar with the knocks, and in particular their knocks.

Rey’s never heard this knock before.

Two hard, firm knocks, with a heartbeat between each. Rey looks up from her book, frowning. Poe does four times in quick succession. Finn’s are much gentler, as are Rose’s. She waits, expecting the door to open, to reveal some face, some visitor, but it doesn’t. Wondering if her troubled mind is playing tricks on her, she looks back down to the words, trying to find her place. Maybe it was a mistake, just a trick of sound. 

The knocks come again, and it’s belatedly that Rey realizes that, whoever it is, they’re waiting for her.

She rises, tugging her robe more tightly around her. Were her maids still here, they would shriek about propriety, about being dressed appropriately for company. They would insist upon one of the fine brocade gowns, perhaps that green and gold one they always told her made her eyes look like amber, the one she hated because of it’s intense weight—

She pulls the door open, her breath catching in her throat as she sees Kylo Ren standing before her.

“Poe said you would not come to me.” It all rushes from his plush lips in a flood of strangled syllables. “So I decided to come to you.”

He looks like sleep has been but a dream to him. There is darkness under his eyes, matching hers, and his skin is even paler than usual, looking more and more like the pure white marble that’s used throughout the palace. His tunic is rumpled, nothing like the fine, embroidered ones Snoke wore. No, this looks simpler, and softer. And more wrinkled.

Rey stares at him, for once no words finding her lips. He came to her. 

“May I speak to you?” he asks. These words are less jumbled. Less frantic.

Rey says nothing, but steps aside, feeling her heartbeat in her throat as she moves. A silent invitation that yes, he can come in, if he so wants. It’s familiar territory, her rooms, and she doesn’t feel quite so ill as he steps inside, his head turning as he looks around.

“A beautiful view,” he says, his gaze finding the balcony that overlooks the city.

“He thought that I would prefer the people over the cliffs or the gardens,” Rey explains. The rain put chores on hold for a bit, and yet so even so soon after the storm, so much life has begun. As she walks over to look with him, she can see lines of colorful laundry she had not seen hung before, can see people moving through the streets, little lives going about their day.

“I want to apologize.”

Again, it rushes from his lips, low and blunt. Rey turns her gaze from her people to him to find him staring at her with an intensity that she’s very much familiar with. Snoke often looked at her the same way. Though she will admit that Kylo Ren’s stare does not make her skin prickle and cool like Snoke’s had. She’ll give him that.

“You’ll need to be more specific,” Rey says.

“I will not apologize for killing your husband.” There's a hardness to his voice, now, a tension in his broad shoulders as he looks down at her.

“I didn’t expect you to.” 

“He was a tyrant, and cared little for his people, only the amount of land he could call his and what riches could be found on it.” The words are spit. Though he doesn't say the words specifically, he speaks as though he is cursing Snoke's name.

Yes. Yes, she’s well aware of what her late husband did, what he's responsible for. But attachment to, and familiarity with, even regarding something – no someone - so terrible, is a funny thing, and so is grief. So is fear, and anxiety.

“I know,” Rey says simply. “I know who he was.” She feels the instinct to wrap her arms around herself, to hold herself together, to protect herself from the hardness of this man's words and gaze. For once, the weight of the robe is grounding instead of constricting, and it helps her breathe a little more easily, even though she can feel her heartbeat quicken.

His shoulder relieve their tension ever so slightly. It's not much, no, but it's noticeable to her. “But I should not have asked for such intimate details, and I apologize.”

Rey says nothing. She gives him the slightest nod, because she cannot make her mouth form words of forgiveness. Not yet, at least. But she hopes he understands as she turns from the balcony, making her way back inside to pour herself a cup of the light, sweet wine that Finn delivered earlier. She pours it into another cup as well, feeling his gaze on her as she bends to steady the stream of white wine.

“In your speech,” she says, taking two cups in her hands and offering him one. “You said you wished to cover the marks that he has made on this world. I want to know how.” He’s only just opening his mouth when she adds, “Specifically.”

“Specifically,” he repeats.

“You mentioned fair wages.”

“Yes,” the emperor-to-be says. “For all workers. Across the empire. To ensure they can support their families.” 

It’s a pretty thought, certainly. “What else?”

“Merchants take more of the profit than the artisans do. I wish to change that. They create, and yet do not get suitable pay in return.”

Rey hums. Yes, she’s aware that many of Snoke’s allies were merchants, giving her husband beautiful pieces to gain his favor and thus reduce their taxes. And yet many of the artisans themselves live in squalor. She takes a sip of the sweet wine, feeling it cool on her tongue. Kylo Ren, now given the assurance that nothing of immediate danger is in it, takes a sip of his own. 

“And what else?” she demands.

“Many things,” he says. “I intend to right his wrongs.”

“It will take years,” Rey insists, looking up into his amber eyes.

“Then I pray for a long life.”

She’s very, very familiar with headstrong men intent on changing the world. Men who think that the world is made of clay, moldable to their will and whimsy. Her late husband had that same intensity. But where greed was in Snoke, there is hope in this new man. This new emperor. 

Rey opens her mouth, but as soon as she does, there’s another knock on the door. This time it opens without her calling for her permission, and Poe steps inside. He stops immediately, his eyes going wide as Amilyn steps around him, a bundle of fabric clutched in her arms.

“Your Imperial Majesties,” she says, immediately going into a curtsy as Poe continues to stare at the emperor and empress.

“Not yet,” Rey mutters under her breath. It’s not bitter, no. It’s the truth. She is not yet the empress, and he is not yet the emperor.

“She’s right, not yet. We will save that title for after the coronation,” Kylo Ren insists, looking towards her once more. “I’ll leave you to your fitting.”

As soon as he came into her room, a force of strength and power and equal amounts of awkwardness, he is leaving the same, squeezing between Poe and Amilyn. Rey watches him go, belatedly realizing that in his efforts to leave, he’d taken the second crystal cup with him. 

“Well?” Poe asks as Amilyn walks forward.

“Well what?”

“You know what.”

She rubs her thumb along the carved pattern of the crystal, the detail in it and the feeling of it against her skin grounding her mind ever so slightly as she considers what just happened. “… I don’t know.” It’s an honest confession.

It’s obviously not satisfying to Poe, because he stares at her, before Amilyn is putting her hand in the middle of his chest and pushing him towards the door. “Out,” she says.

“Oh, I can’t see the dress?” 

“Are you working on it, or wearing it? Then no, you cannot see the gown.” 

“Come on, Amilyn!”

“No.” It’s punctuated by the slamming of the door in Poe’s face, and for the first time in several days, Rey laughs, still hearing Poe’s protests beyond the door.

✥

“Is this what he wanted?”

“It’s what he told me, yes.”

Amilyn’s behind her, pinning the fabric where it needs to be taken in. It’s a basic form, the woman had explained. There will be plenty of embellishment, at the emperor-to-be’s request. When Rey had prodded, the woman had insisted that was all she was allowed to know. 

The gown is nothing like Rey’s ever worn before. Her desert clothes were the definition of comfort, of freedom, with their loose, light fabrics. The gowns Snoke gave her were very much the opposite, heavy and constrictive and structured.

This… this is a mix of both. 

The bodice is tight. That’s where the embellishment will be, Amilyn explained. But it ends just below her breasts, and the fabric that flows down to her feet is soft, smooth, and thin. Many layers of it result in an almost dreamy, gauzy sort of look, something reminiscent of the statues of the gods. Rey looks down, pinching a bit between her fingers. It feels almost like air. So very, very different from the fabrics she’s used to. Even though the ones of her desert land were light, they were rough. She's never felt something this light and this soft.

There is to be a train, as well, but that’s not done yet, not even started. It will fit a bit like a vest, Amilyn had explained, with holes for her arms and embroidered straps, the front of it lacing below her breasts where the bodice ends to reveal the bodice and its decoration. Then it will trail many, many feet behind her, embellished just as the bodice will be.

“This is different.” Rey mutters, lifting the layers of the skirt and then letting it fall. The light fabric brushes against her legs, the feeling pleasant and almost ticklish. 

“Yes,” Amilyn replies, the word muffled slightly because of the pin currently held between her lips. Rey can feel her tug, testing how tight the bodice needs to be. “He wanted different.” The pin is slipped into the fabric, her words clearer, now.

“Yes, but this is…” There is no high collar. There are no buttons at her throat. Her collarbone, and the top of her chest is open, like one of her shifts. “Strange.” 

“He requested something different. I brought him a sketch. He had ideas. I followed through.”

“What were his ideas?”

“That is a question you should ask him,” Amilyn explains, standing from where she was bending to properly see Rey’s back. Her hair is a soft lilac color, no doubt the dye from the deep violet flowers that twine and grow up the walls of buildings in the city. Snoke always hated them, called them a nuisance because they grew rapidly, and were hard to prune and shape. He loved their color, but hated the sight of the actual plant itself.

Rey looks back into the mirror, moving and tracing the line of the train as Amylin had showed her. “So-“ 

“The train will remain on for the coronation, and will be removed for your wedding and the celebration after.”

That wasn’t what she was going to ask, but it makes sense. If the train is as long as Amilyn says it will be, to walk through and greet her people at the celebration will be a challenge. Not to mention the dancing.

Dancing.

“Do you know anything of the coronation plans?” Rey asks.

“Unless it has to do with your gown, or his attire, then no.”

“What is he wearing?”

“The same colors as you.”

“Well, then, what colors am I wearing?” 

Her nose is poked gently, reminding her of her mother in her younger days, before the toll of famine, drought, despair found her heart. “Be patient,” Amilyn says. “You’ll see it finished soon.”

Rey looks back to the mirror, lifting the skirts again and letting them fall. It’s lighter, certainly. Lighter. Looser. If he’s going for freedom, for something entirely against Snoke’s image, then he succeeded. Or she succeeded. She’s unsure what he asked for, and what Amilyn came up with herself, but she’s certainly not going to go to him just to ask what he contributed to her dress.

“All right. Off it comes.” 

Rey’s careful of the pins, making sure none are jostled, both for the best fit and because to be poked or scratched is not something she particularly wants. She’s only just reaching for her undershift, the neckline too high for the new gown, when there’s a knock, and then the creak of the door.

Finn steps inside, and immediately moves his hand over his eyes. “Forgive me.” 

“Of course,” Rey says, smiling at his efforts as she pulls her shift over her head. Finn’s seen her before, was there when she was ill a few years back, and had to be cooled down often. Eventually cool cloths failed to help, and he was the one who stripped her and guided her into the cold water of a bath while her maids twittered about, worried more about losing their position than they were about losing her. Was it proper? No. But it broke her fever and more than likely saved her life.

Finn steps further inside of the room, pulling his hand from his face once he’s sure she’s covered. “I was wondering if you wanted to go for a walk?”

“Gods, yes, please,” Rey breathes, looking towards Amilyn. “Am I still needed?”

“No, go on,” the older woman says, already making notes on a piece of parchment.

“Is that the gown?” Finn asks, taking another step forward.

“No,” Amilyn says both loudly and firmly. “Like everyone else who is not actively creating it, you will see it on the day of the coronation.”

“She’s very insistent,” Rey explains, grabbing one of the first gowns out of the first chest she opens. Heavy though it may be, she likes the pale blue and the golden embroidery. Immediately Amilyn is there, helping her into it and lacing it up over the shift. 

“So Poe told me,” Finn says.

“You’ve spoken to him?”

“Yes.”

So he knows about the emperor-to-be’s visit, then. It’s no wonder he wants to walk with her. Rey keeps her hair up until Amilyn finishes lacing up the back of the gown. There’s that tightness she’s so familiar with, the one she didn’t quite feel in the other gown, and she takes as deep of a breath as she can, trying to keep the familiar sting of tears at bay.

✥

“You’re troubled.”

It’s the first thing Finn says as they step out into the back gardens. These remained untouched during the uprising, and for that Rey will be forever grateful. While the front courtyard was just flowers, the back gardens have berries, apples, fruits and vegetables. Many an afternoon has been spent here, snacking as she strolled. 

“Of course I am,” Rey mutters, grabbing a plump raspberry from a nearby bush and slipping it between her lips. Sweet, tart juice explodes on her tongue, the seeds snapping beneath her teeth. “I’m… I feel as though I am always feeling twenty things at once, and it’s completely overwhelming.” 

Finn says nothing, and perhaps it's best, because it lets her think and gather her words. She reaches for another raspberry, popping it into her mouth and chewing as they continue to walk.

“I don’t mourn him,” Rey confesses, grabbing a leaf off of a nearby bush, and twirling the stem between her fingers to keep her hands busy. “Is that wrong?”

“No,” Finn says. “I would be surprised if you did.”

“I…” Rey starts, before she pauses, trying to find the words. She reaches for a few blueberries, chewing as she considers how exactly to put her feelings into words. The problem is, like she said, there are too many of them.

“Things are going to change for the better,” Finn explains. “The Resistance wants to ensure that the lives of all of those in the empire are fair, and good. There is going to be less focus on the rich. There are going to be fair wages, and people to ensure that workers are being paid and treated properly, and that the schools are full and children learn and there is enough food and water--”

“It’s wonderful,” Rey interjects, looking up at her friend. She knows quite well where he came from, knows that his childhood was full of work and hardships, knows that he was drafted into Snoke’s guard when he was not yet ten.

She knows just how important these changes are to him. 

She reaches, dropping the leaf and instead reaching for Finn’s hand, squeezing tightly. “It’s wonderful,” she repeats. “It will be wonderful. I just…” Her words fail her. “… he was always there. Terrible though he may be, he was always there.” 

“Do you miss him?”

“No,” she insists immediately. “No, I don’t, I just…” She trails off again, before she finds how to explain it. “I feel as though I was climbing stairs, and even though I already lifted my foot, there are no more steps, and I fall. I don’t miss it, because it wasn’t truly there to begin with to catch me. But I assumed it was there regardless. And now it isn't. And now there are new steps to climb..."

And she can't say for certain that they will be there this time, either. 

"I don't miss him," Rey promises, looking up at her dear friend, grateful he's listening to her. "But to have him gone is strange, and unnerving. Everything is changing so quickly. And I'm once again marrying a man I barely know. And you know what Snoke did, what he promised, and yet..." Her throat feels tight, despite the fact that this gown doesn't have the high neckline, the tight lace some others do. "I'm scared, Finn." It's a whisper.

There is a kiss to her temple, Finn’s full lips warm and plush against her skin. Rey closes her eyes, indulging in the closeness and warmth of the man as she leans into him. His hand leaves hers in favor of wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

It all sounds good, truly. The changes. The fair wages. The water. The food. The schools. The fair treatment of workers. No doubt there is more. No doubt there are more dreams, more goals to better the lives of the people the Resistance represents. The mistreated, the abused, the abandoned… 

It all sounds good. 

But she has to wonder if it sounds a little too good. 

_How much for her?_

_One hundred thousand gold, and protection, Your Imperial Majesty. For my family, and my people._Her father’s hand is on her lower back. _We wish to be part of your empire.__We need your help. Your Imperial Majesty. Our people are dying, there is no water, we have no food—_

_Be quiet._

She remembers the silence that followed. The way that Snoke had beckoned her forward. The way that she had been pushed forward before she could even take a step for herself. The touch of a cool hand to her cheek, her chin, tilting her face up towards his. 

_You ask for one hundred thousand gold?_

_Yes, Your Imperial Majesty._

_You ask for too little. You will get two hundred thousand, and my eternal blessing and protection. Your people will have water, they will have food. Enough for generations to come. Does that sound like a suitable deal?_

Protection, he’d promised.

She doesn’t know where her parents are buried. He never told her. He just told her they had been killed in an attack, along with many of their people.

Protection.

She knows quite well who ordered the attack. 

_Two hundred thousand gold, and eternal blessing and protection. Endless food and water to save their people._

If it sounds too good to be true, there is a very good chance it is.

✥

More rain comes that night. Instead of lying in bed and listening to it, Rey stands at the door to her balcony, watching it come down and feeling the occasional drop on her cheek. 

“You asked about elephants.”

“Snoke bought twenty for our wedding,” Rey explains, leaning her head against the doorway as she looks out at the city. It’s difficult to see through the rain, but she can see a few smudges of light, of people in their homes. “As well as peacocks, tigers, bears, snakes, panthers, horses, monkeys…" She lets her words trail off, letting the silence speak for itself. "They were not treated well.”

“Nothing in his care was, it seems.”

Rey turns, looking to Poe. He’s watching her from one of the couches. Acting guard though he may be, he seems to think himself her friend, her ally, and is in her rooms more often than he is not. Though she could be disturbed or irritated by it, she’s come to enjoy his company. No one, none of her ladies nor anyone in Snoke’s circle, exuded such warmth and charm. Finn’s sweet, yes, but he doesn’t have the quick, wicked tongue that Poe does. Rey’s glad for it. She’s not sure she could deal with two silver-tongued men in her midst. 

“How do you mean?” Rey asks, stepping away from the balcony and towards the man. "Nothing in his care was treated well?"

“You were in his care, too,” Poe says simply.

He hasn’t shaved, and there is grey in his beard. He looks older. There are dark circles beneath his eyes as well, though not nearly as dark as hers, or Kylo Ren’s. Still, they are there.

“… he never whipped me like he did the animals, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Rey mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest as she walks towards him. 

Poe watches her carefully, even as she sits across from him and reaches for the bottle of deep red grape juice. There is no wine tonight. He came in earlier, taking the gifted vase with the wine-stained rag and shattered glass away. She hasn’t seen it since. “He asked you if it was consummated, didn't he?"

“Yes,” Rey says simply. “And if you ask me, I will give you the same answer I gave him. I am not going to indulge details of my—”

“It wasn’t.” 

His voice is loud, startling her and causing her to spill the juice. It spills over the edge of the table, and Rey curses beneath her breath, looking around to reach for some sort of cloth to mop it up. “Damn you.”

“Damn me all you like, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m right.” 

Rey glares at him, standing and making her way to the basin of water where more fresh cloths are stacked neatly. She hates to ruin another, but there’s nothing else to wipe up her mess with. “I’m not going to give you an answer.” 

“I won’t tell him, I swear,” Poe insists, reaching and moving the cup up from the table so that she can wipe underneath it. “That is your choice to tell him, and when to tell him.” 

“You’re right. It is,” Rey hisses, kneeling to mop up the juice on the floor.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Her hand stills, the cloth still clutched between her fingers. She stops for half of a heartbeat, before she continues, finishing with the floor before leaning up to wipe the table. She notices that Poe’s filled her glass for her and is holding it out to her. Setting the cloth aside, she takes it from him, before taking a long sip. She’d forgotten it wasn’t actually wine, and the tartness of it makes her grimace. 

“We don’t need to talk about it anymore,” Poe promises. His voice is soft as she moves to top off her glass. “We can talk about anything you wish.” 

“I don’t want elephants, or any exotic animals,” Rey says, her grip on the glass tightening until her knuckles are white and she almost fears the thing shattering in her hand. “I don’t want some long veil that he has to lift up to reveal me. I don’t want pearls thrown from the balcony when we are announced. I don’t want thousands of doves released to symbolize peace when there was no peace involved. I don’t want anything similar to anything that happened that day, with the exception of the vows.” 

For all of his charm, for all of his silver-tongued nature, for all of his little quips and quirks, for one time he made her laugh since Snoke’s death, he looks at her with more seriousness and, dare she say it, sympathy, than she’s ever seen from someone. It’s not pity. At least she hopes it is not pity. She doesn’t want pity. She doesn’t want to be the poor empress. She doesn’t even want to be the empress, never _wanted_ to be the empress. 

“I’ll tell him,” Poe says, after a moment. “I’ll tell him. Nothing will be the same. I promise."

“Thank you.”

“No elephants.”

“No elephants,” Rey repeats, her voice quiet as she looks down at her hands. 

Within a heartbeat, there is another hand upon hers. A man’s hand, calloused, like Kylo Ren’s, but warm. Comforting. Looking up, she sees that Poe is straining to touch her, to soothe her. He has to reach across the table to her. He rubs his thumb across the back of her hand, one more gentle touch, before he lets go, and starts to say something about the blackberries in the back garden, something about Finn, too.

Rey’s only half listening, the drink in her hand going untouched as Poe goes on and on.

It all seems too good. All of it.

All of them.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am constantly overwhelmed by the amount of support this story has received. As much as I enjoy writing my other stories, this is the first story I have felt well and truly proud of in a very, very long time. As in years a long time. Thank you so much for all of your comments, your kudos, and your hits. I'm forever grateful.

She waits.

She doesn’t know what she’s waiting for. For disaster to strike? For the emperor-to-be to ignore her wishes entirely and ask for fifty elephants, a hundred elephants, two hundred just to spite her.

He doesn’t seem like the type. Then again, she’d misjudged Snoke’s character, basing her impression off of a few days of gentle hands and kind smiles and light blue eyes that seemed as though they were focused on her. 

They weren’t.

✥

There are still flowers. There are still decorations. For all of the promises that Kylo Ren gave to his people that he would not spend money frivolously, Rey can see that he made the decision to spend at least a little on his coronation. It is, after all, a celebration. And while celebrations can be held with very little gold, as she knows from her childhood in her poor little desert kingdom, when many, many people are involved, it helps to have a little grandeur.

“Are there invitations?” Rey asks, leaning on the balcony and watching as carts come in. For the money he spent, he seems to have spent it wisely. The flowers came in on grand and fanciful carriages the day before her wedding to Snoke. These flowers come on humble carts, drawn by donkeys and the reins held by local farmers.

“No,” Poe says simply, leaning on the balcony beside her and watching as well. “Whoever wants to come can come to the coronation. The celebration will be limited to those who helped us the day of the uprising, so that we may know how many mouths to feed.”

It’s a very, very stark contrast to her wedding to Snoke, where wealth and status determined how close one sat to the altar, how close one would be to the throne room, to the emperor and empress themselves. There were still thousands of people, this is true. But they were all hand selected by the amount of jewels around their neck and gold in their coffers.

It makes sense, though, to cut off for the celebration. They have a finite supply of food, of drink. For the coronation, though…

At least there was assurance with her marriage to Snoke. He was able to tell her just how many people to expect, just how many eyes would be upon the new empress, young and soft and sweet and so, so naïve.

Now countless people will be staring at the woman who was married to the tyrant.

Rey swallows as she looks down at the flowers, red and yellow and pink, all sorts of shapes and sizes. More types than she’s ever seen before. More beauty than she ever considered possible.

Poe’s hand finds hers as she sighs shakily. “What is it?” 

“He…” she starts, before a strangled laugh escapes her. “It sounds ridiculous.”

“I'd bet it doesn't."

“He didn’t like anything other than perfection,” Rey confesses, seeing another cart come rolling down the main road, piled high with yellow and pink flowers, some kind she’s never seen. “I’ve never seen most of these, they weren’t perfect enough…”

“Never?”

“Desert kingdom,” Rey explains, turning and looking at him. He’s kept the beard, but it’s been trimmed, and it suits him. It suits the softness of his face, of his gaze.

“Ah,” he says, looking down. “I would fetch one for you, but we are four stories up, you see. But, if you insist-“ He grunts, lifting one leg onto the balcony, as though to jump from it.

“No!” Her hands find his tunic, tugging him right back in. Poe starts laughing, the sound loud and bright and making her laugh too as they stumble back into her rooms, giggling all the while.

There’s a spark. A little bit of warmth, a little bit of hope as Rey clings to Poe, her fingers clutching at his tunic for stability as Finn walks in. He looks at them curiously, but both are laughing too hard to speak.

Laughter. It’s so unfamiliar that it makes her chest, her stomach ache sharply as she bows over, holding the muscles as though that will stop the pain. 

It doesn’t.

But the warmth in her chest, the curious thought of _maybe, just maybe, it is good, and it is true_, is completely and utterly worth the physical agony.

✥

There are two more fittings of the gown. Each time, Poe is there when Amilyn comes by, and each time, he is pushed out. And each time, Amilyn asks the same thing.

“Are you making it? Are you wearing it? If you’re not doing either, then out you go.”

The third fitting, the final one the day before the actual coronation, Poe snaps back. “Hey!” he says, Amilyn stopping with her hand on his chest. He stares her down – or, rather, up, considering the slender woman is just a bit taller than him. “You don’t know that. I could wear it. I’d look beautiful in it, too. And you know it.”

“Out, Dameron,” Amilyn says. Rey barely hears it over her own laughter, and Finn’s.

Finn is allowed to stay, because they need more than just one pair of hands to help with all the laces and ribbons. The train itself is longer than her rooms are wide, which will make an impact in the throne room, but for now results in Finn having to step over the length of fabric each time he makes his way to her.

“It’s beautiful, Rey,” he tells her, looking down at the embroidery on the train. “I can’t believe they managed to finish so quickly…”

“The women in my workshop are being paid what they should be paid for the first time in their lives. They’re more than happy to work,” Amilyn explains, her fingers fixing one of the laces in the back of the gown, making sure it lays flat. “Especially when there is such promise in this celebration.”

Promise. The word makes Rey’s stomach feel as though it is made of marble, and for a moment she does not see soft cream and rich blue. She sees gold, rich and heavy and suffocating, and pearls, and emeralds and rubies and sapphires and topaz and—

“Rey.” 

Finn’s hand is cool and smooth against her cheek, bringing her back to the present. She breathes deeply, grateful that the dress allows her to do so. Reaching up, she touches where the tops of her breasts are showing. Years ago, her skin would be covered in freckles, more brown flecks on her skin than stars in the sky, or so it seemed. Now, her skin is pale as cream from being covered for so many years. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“No,” Amilyn explains. “It’s different.”

It certainly is. The bodice itself is embroidered with pale silver thread, so different from the absolutely absurd amounts of gold her gown had for her first wedding. It’s delicate rather than gaudy, sparkling gently in the sunlight coming in from the open balcony.

Stars are scattered all across the train, larger ones creating a border around the edge of the train and the top bodice, and then smaller ones throughout. There are no gems. There’s no ludicrous amount of wealth. The only shine comes from the silver thread, and Rey finds she much, much prefers it.

“We have crystals to add,” Amilyn explains. “But the artisan is not yet finished with them. They will be intermixed with the sewn stars.” 

_But does it need it_, Rey thinks as she takes a step forward, feeling the train behind her. It’s not nearly as long, nor as heavy as her first one was. There’s no choking, no sensation of being a naughty hound on a leash as she takes yet another step. It rustles, moving like the water it so looks like before stopping around her feet.

“Where were you four years ago?” Rey breathes, laughing as she looks to the seamstress.

“I helped with the other as well,” Amilyn explains, stepping forward to adjust some of the lace at Rey’s shoulders. “I have to say I much prefer this one.” 

“I as well,” Rey replies. She takes another step, her smile bright. 

“You’ll be wearing the same diadem you wore before,” Amylin says, as Rey feels a tugging at her neck. “That piece is older than Snoke, though I know that is hard to imagine.”

Yes, she knows. She knows that the diadem with all of its diamonds has a history to it that even Snoke did not dare disturb. She can compromise. Nothing else is to remain the same, Poe had assured her. She can bear with repeating the same words and wearing the same jewels.

“Thank you.” She means it with her entire being as Amilyn unties the ribbon holding the train to her bodice, a thick thing of gold. “For this.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Word is spreading that there is to be no work that day.”

Rey turns to Finn, letting her arms hang by her side so that Amilyn can remove the train. “What?” 

“The entire empire is celebrating,” Finn explains. “Word is reaching Atlan, and Bamarre, and Jakku, even. It is to be a day of rest and celebration, not work.”

Snoke didn’t make such an order. If one was not rich, or powerful in some regard, there was work to be done. Streets to be swept, bread to be baked, flowers to prune, windows to wash. She can distinctly recall hearing her late husband scold a maid for looking up at the decorations, her broom in her hand as she admired the banners, the velvet embroidered with his insignia. She’d never heard him be so harsh before. Over time, she'd learned his wrath was not limited to maids and manservants. Calm though his voice may have been, it was his words that were cutting. Through servants, and through his advisors.

For someone so well-spoken, someone so capable of spinning speeches into gold and progress, his words were hardly ever kind. 

Rey feels the gown slip from her shoulders, leaving her bare before Amilyn is guiding her shift back over her head. She didn’t even realize, so caught up in the memory of her red-faced late husband, his words too cruel to repeat even in her mind.

“Rey?”

Finn’s voice is low, gentle, bringing her the last step back into the present as he offers her the robe she so loves. Nodding, she reaches for it, letting him help her into it. Immediately his arm is around her waist, guiding her to the couch. They weren’t allowed this when she was married to Snoke. They weren’t allowed to sit side by side, her head upon his shoulder as he holds her. It was improper. It was inappropriate. It was scandalous, even. But she’s grateful for the touch, now, for the warmth of him against her as she relaxes and closes her eyes, feeling his hand upon her knee.

To enter this new age is to be touched, Rey thinks, considering the amount of times Finn’s held her, and Poe’s touched her hand.

Touch. She can accept touch.

Most of them, at least.

✥

“He sent me to apologize on his behalf.”

Poe collapses onto the couch across from her, grabbing one of the biscuits she’s become obsessed with since she was introduced to them just a few days ago. The dough is light and sweet with a slightly nutty taste, and the treat itself is covered in powdered sugar. It’s a glorious mess she’s never had before, was never _allowed _to have before. The treat reveals its consequences as Poe bites into it, powdered sugar falling to the dark brown leather of the vest he’s wearing tonight.

Rose laughs beside Rey, cradling her cup of tea as she watches their new friend struggle to not get powdered sugar all over him.

“More for later?” Poe asks, looking up and raising a brow at the two women. Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes while Rose laughs again.

“Apologize for what?” Rey questions, reaching for another, less messy cookie in the form of one with jam in the middle. She grabs one for Rose as well, passing the treat to the other woman before biting into the delicate dough.

“He hasn’t spoken to you in days,” Poe explains. “But he’s busy with preparations.” 

“Tell him there is no apology needed,” Rey replies. “I’m quite used to being left alone in favor of more important matters.” It’s harsh, her words bitter, but it’s the truth. 

“Do you want me to repeat that word for word?” Poe asks, raising a dark brow. 

“No,” Rey replies, her voice softer, now. “Forgive me, I wasn't... I wasn't referring to him. Tell him that there is no need for an apology.”

“I’ll tell him,” Poe says, reaching for a cup. They’re delicate porcelain things, with sweet little handles and painted flowers on the side. It’s almost comical, with how calloused and rough his hands look, to see him pick up the cup with such care. “May I?”

“Of course. There is rose tea, and chamomile,” Rey explains.

“Rose for a Rose.”

“Actually, Rey likes the rose,” Rose says, lifting her cup of tea before taking a sip.

“My mistake, then.” He scoops some leaves up, putting them into the little silver strainer that sits atop the cup. “Forgive me, I don’t believe we’ve spoken much. I hear you’re working on the mosaics?”

“When there’s not something else to fix,” Rose replies.

“Paige told me you’re very good at fixing what larger hands can’t.”

“Paige?” Rey asks, frowning, looking towards the emperor’s second-in-command. “You know Paige?”

Poe stops, the tea pot in his hand, about to pour the water. There is silence, the gentle sound of Rose putting her cup down on its saucer, and then more silence.

And then Rose looks to her. “Paige was with the Resistance. Is with them,” Rose explains. 

Surprised isn’t the right word. Shocked isn’t either. She knows very well that there were several in the palace, working for the Resistance under Snoke’s nose. She knows Finn turned the day of the uprising, abandoning his red armor in favor of promises of a better life. But to hear that Rose’s sister was with them all along, not just turning, but working simultaneously in the armory as well as in the Resistance…

“What made her join?” Rey asks, cradling her own cup of tea. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Poe pouring his tea now that the tension has eased, the smell of rose getting ever so slightly stronger in the room as he does so. 

“You know we came from Otomok.”

Yes, she’s aware of the town near the mountains. A small mining town. Though she hasn’t heard much about it, even from Rose, she can picture small row houses, can picture coal coming up from the mines, some minerals, too, for medicinal purposes.

“The children in Otomok aren’t paid to work,” Poe explains, setting the tea pot down. “They’re forced to.”

Yes. Yes, she knows that, too. Rose told her about that, years ago. “The Resistance promised to help them?”

“They’re going to build a school,” Rose explains, and there is such a warmth in her smile and hope in her eyes that Rey can’t help but smile, too. “And pay fairly.”

“Paige wants to go and help,” Poe says. “Once the plans are put in place.”

Yet another wonderful, too-good sounding thing to add to the list in her brain. But Gods, if it doesn’t sound perfect.. and Rose is smiling, reaching for another powder-covered biscuit.

“He cannot make declarations until he is emperor,” Rey says quietly, wondering if, had he crowned himself that day, he would have already put his too-good plans in motion.

“Then aren’t we lucky that tomorrow is the coronation?” Poe replies, his grin as bright as the sun setting in the distance, beyond the cliffs.

_Yes. Yes, they are very lucky, _Rey thinks, her hand shaking slightly as she brings her cup of tea to her lips. The warmth of the liquid doesn’t help the chill and chatter in her chest.

✥

The preparations start early. Very, very early, before sunrise, even. She’s glad for it, for the footsteps and voices outside of her rooms, because it gives her an excuse to leave her bed and walk through the palace. For all of the chamomile tea she drank, for all of the time she tossed and turned, for all of the pillows she added and then threw off, sleep never came. Her heart beat too quickly, her cheeks felt too flushed but her toes too cold, her mind racing in circles and swirls and all sorts of shapes, thoughts crossing over themselves as she heard the first voices outside.

Eager to move, she stands and walks towards the balcony, looking down at the city below.

It’s still dark out, but she can see the lanterns attached to the carts as they approach the main gate of the palace. They swing with the movement of the oxen, the horses, the donkeys. Though flowers came in the day before, she can see swaths of fabric, can see large jugs of wine and liquor. A baker comes, the redheaded man from several days ago approaching the cart and taking a loaf from beneath the covering. Rey can practically hear the crunch of the delicate crust from her balcony, even though the redheaded man looks as though he is as tall as her middle finger from this height and distance. Once the man is satisfied, he waves the baker through with his tower of bread.

She remembers this sort of feeling. The shaking in her chest, feeling like it is a freezing desert night when she is perfectly covered and wrapped in her robe with the fire roaring back inside the room. Four years ago, she brushed it off, told herself it was because she was excited. Why wouldn’t she be? She was to become empress, with a gorgeous gown and diamond-filled diadem with thousands of people watching her, more people than are in her entire kingdom… 

Now she recognizes the feeling as fear. No, terror.

It doesn’t stop her from leaving her rooms, though, her arms wrapped tightly around her to keep her from shaking apart entirely as she strolls through the halls.

Gone are the busts, the statues, the carved insignias. Gone are the rods that held the tapestries, the wall around it scrubbed and buffed so that where the tapestry once was isn’t quite so noticeable. Paintings have been removed, those walls scrubbed as well to conceal the discoloration. Everything seems so empty despite the banners now hanging up. 

The new empire's insignia is a beautiful, simple thing. A circle with an R in the middle, the longest line of the R a sword to represent just how Kylo Ren came to be emperor. Snoke’s own insignia was a curling, swirling, fanciful thing. The new symbol stitched upon banners of rich red, bold blue and grassy green is much simpler, and much easier to understand. Even the smallest child who has some sort of concept of imagery could guess its meaning, Rey observes, watching as men stand on long wooden ladders to hang them from the railings overlooking the throne room. 

Are they as elegant as Snoke’s were? No. The embroidery may be golden, but the banners are not velvet, or brocade. They are woven, the embroidery perhaps looking a bit rushed, but it does not detract from the symbolism of the insignia. They are not like Snoke's, and therefore they are infinitely more beautiful.

Rey pulls her robe tighter around her, nodding at one man who is securing the banner to a railing she passes, the soft “Good morning, Your Imperial Majesty,” making her shudder. 

More food is rolled in. She can see it through the grand hall as she stands at the top of the stairs, her hand upon the banister but feet not daring to take another step. There are salted meats, wheels of cheese, more bread. All for simple meals, she would guess. She can’t remember what she ate during the celebration of her and Snoke’s union. She can’t even remember if she ate at all. She would guess not, but she does remember everything being ridiculous, rare meats and exotic fruits and a cake that revealed live birds when it was cut open, the blackbirds flying out and scaring her so terribly the wind was knocked out of her. 

She’d neglected to mention that detail to Poe. She hopes beyond hope that it does not happen again. 

The sun rises over the city, but sets beyond the cliffs. The tower in the library gives her the best vantage point to watch the sunrise, the windows perhaps a big grimy but the view still beautiful. She settles in on one of the window seats, watching the golden sun start to reach her people. In the distance, there are smaller towns, rolling hills rich with fertile soil for wine grapes, for fruits, for vegetables. The green is familiar to her, now, but there was once a time when the sight of it almost made her faint with delight. 

_I’ve never seen so much green in the whole world._

_You’ll become tired of it, soon enough._

That’s all he said. He didn’t even look at her. He didn’t even see her broad smile fall, or her shoulders sag, or her gaze shift from the green she so loved to her hands in her lap.

✥

“You have such beautiful hair, I wish mine was this thick." 

That’s not what the ladies said while they prepped her for her first wedding. They tutted, cursing under their breath. Her hair had been cut short to help with the heat of the Jakku sun, falling just to her shoulders. They claimed they didn’t know what to do with such little hair, their own locks coming mid-back, at the very least. She can remember the shame she felt as they tugged and pulled at her hair, silently wishing that she could suddenly grow six more inches.

Her hair is longer than it was then, but not to her mid-back. She tried, she really did, but she found the length irritating, the ends tangling and tearing despite her best efforts. Now, she feels the heat of the hot metal rod as Rose wraps her locks around it, making them curl. It will be pinned up, Amilyn had explained, but this was the first step.

“Thank you,” Rey whispers, her chest feeling hollow and then full then hollow then full again. It feels as though it is turning inside out and then popping back the way that it was, over and over again. Despite Finn’s insistence that she ate, she only managed to get two bites of bread and cheese down before she insisted she could eat no more. Water, though, she is drinking constantly, a cup of it currently in her hands as she feels Rose gently tug at her hair. 

Sunlight pours in from the balcony, catching the crystals that have been sewn into her train and sending small rainbows across the room. It’s beautiful, truly, and so much more representative of the new age. A star for every good plan, good intention, good wish, Rey thinks, seeing the crystals out of the corner of her eye. And there must be hundreds of ‘stars’.

“Poe said blue is one of his best colors,” Finn says from the bed. 

“If he wants the gown after the coronation, he is more than welcome to it,” Rey explains, seeing Rose put the metal rod in a bucket of water. It hisses and steams as she reaches for a few of the golden pins, a gift from Amilyn when she found out that the only pins Rey had were ones given to her by Snoke.

“None of him today, or for the rest of your days,” the lilac-haired woman had insisted, pressing the small wooden box into Rey’s hands.

_If only it were so simple. _

“How do you know how to do this?” Rey asks, feeling Rose twist and twirl her hair, pinning the piece to her head.

“The blacksmith in Otomok would turn old, damaged pieces of tools into pins for us, to keep our hair up while we worked,” Rose explains. Calloused from work though they may be, they are significantly gentler than the hands of her former maids, and Rey almost finds herself relaxing as Rose continues to twist, twirl, pin. “Paige and I would put ours together and try different styles, sometimes. See what held the best throughout the day.” 

Yes, that makes sense. “Remind me to give you some pretty pins,” Rey whispers. 

“I have no use for them,” Rose explains. “Save them for you.” 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Rey nods ever so slightly, trying desperately not to disturb Rose’s work. If the other woman minds, she says nothing, continuing twisting and pinning until Rey’s hair is entirely pulled up, the back of her head an elegant collection of waves and curls.

The pins are just barely visible, the pearls on the end significantly more subtle than the giant collections of emeralds and diamonds, sapphires and citrines of the pins Snoke gave her, and the pins she wore on her first wedding day.

If she had to put on the first dress, she would surely faint, Rey thinks, grateful that the new dress is light as Rose helps her into it. It’s strange, not wearing a full shift beneath it, but simply a skirt. All of her shifts had too high of a neck, ruining the visual impact of the new neckline. Her chest feels bare as Rose laces up the back of the bodice, her legs much freer and shoulders lighter.

“I don’t know how this will work,” Rey says, her voice just barely more than a whisper as she lets herself be dressed like a doll, Rose guiding the first arm of the train up to her shoulder.

“How what will work?” Finn asks. 

“Do I join him? Do I come in later?” No one gave her direction, no one told her what to do this time, versus the first time where she was given the exact amount of steps to take, and how slowly, how high to hold her chin, how straight to hold her back, how lightly to step so as to appear dainty, innocent, sweet. “I don’t know—”

“You’ll stand by his side as he is crowned,” Finn explains. “And then they will crown you for the second time.”

“I don’t suppose not being crowned is an option?” Rey asks, looking over her shoulder at Finn. 

“It’s a bit late for that,” he says, standing. He looks wonderful in his purple jacket, the almost-doublet more open at the chest and revealing the cream tunic beneath. Rey wonders where he got it, if it was made for him, or if it was borrowed. If so, from whom? 

“I know.” She can’t tell whether the words are just in her head, or whether sound leaves her lips. If it does leave her lips, she’s not entirely sure it was audible. 

Finn’s lips find her temple, and she closes her eyes, relaxing into his touch as Rose rests her hands on Rey's shoulders. She tries to breathe deeply, but almost chokes around the lump in her throat, and starts coughing. The glass in her hand is guided to her lips, and the hand that isn’t holding the water finds Finn’s, squeezing tightly as she drinks in hopes of calming herself.

It doesn’t work. 

“He’s ready.”

She didn’t even hear the door open, didn’t hear Poe’s footsteps. She just hears his voice as Rose helps slide silver slippers onto her feet. There’s a strange rushing in her ears, reminding her of the moment her husband was killed and there was nothing but roaring and numbness.

“Rey.” A hand on her back, guiding her to stand. Poe is there, offering his hand as well. She takes it, grabs it, squeezes it so tightly her knuckles are white. If he’s in pain, he says nothing, keeping his face completely blank as he guides her from her rooms towards the large staircase that leads down into the main entrance hall. From there there are two galleries, each emptied of Snoke’s influence and image, and then one more hall, and then there is the throne room…

She doesn’t remember the journey feeling quite this long, last time.

“Breathe.” She doesn’t quite register who says it, whether it’s one of their voices, or her own. “Breathe.” 

She does. She breathes as they pass empty pedestals where his bust once stood, empty walls where portraits once hung, hooks where weapons used in war were once displayed…

The lack of him helps steady her heart as they approach the throne room, and then they are stopping.

“You must walk on your own," Poe reminds her.

She can do this. The thought is sudden, and strong. She can do this.

“I’ve already done it once,” Rey finds herself saying. “It can’t be much harder the second time.”

She only just hears the creak of the door, the feeling of one last gentle hand against her lower back, and then her support is gone, no doubt to assume their positions, whatever they may be.

She knows what hers is.

It’s the first true, firm step into a new age as the door opens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, I'm evil, I'm sorry, but trust me, I'm as excited as you are! Which means it will be out soon! Probably within the next two days soon! Think you can wait that long? For me? For Rey?
> 
> Also, if you want to see what Rey's coronation dress looks like, I'll be posting a moodboard on my Twitter @aquawolfgirl. There's a picture in there that I edited to look like Rey's dress.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who were worried about a lack of Kylo - don't worry! The man's busy, he just took over an entire empire, after all. Hopefully this will sate your thirst for the new emperor.

He never considered it would be this overwhelming, this terrifying, this all-consuming. 

Then again, he never considered that killing the emperor and taking his place would actually _work. _He thought he would lose his life before he even passed the gates. He had prepared for death, but instead found victory.

And now he has no idea what to do with it.

Logically, of course, there is the understanding that the throne is not just a chair, and the crown is not just a headpiece. No, it’s much more than just gold and wood and jewels. When he chose to take Snoke’s position, he was inheriting everything. All of the wealth, all of the duties, all of the problems of the entire empire that stretches so much farther than he thought it did, according to the maps. And probably even farther than the pieces of parchment suggest.

He has great men beneath him, to follow his orders, to deliver messages and put his plans into place. But there is no one to guide him. The second night, after the high of power and triumph left him feeling lower than he’s ever felt, he briefly wished that he had left one of Snoke’s advisors alive. At least that way he would have had someone, reluctant though the man might have been, to at least offer some sort of advice regarding what steps to take.

How does one even plan a coronation?

How does one even plan a wedding to a woman who loathes him?

It was a good plan, in theory. That is, his plan to get to know her from afar while he dealt with the complications of taking over an entire empire. Captain Poe Dameron is one of the warmest, most charming men Ben knows. If anyone in his circle of supporters could get answers from the young empress, it was going to be Poe. With his silver tongue and easy smile, Ben knows he himself has let slip a few secrets around the man, no wine or liquor needed.

And it worked, to a degree. Poe tells him that she is warming up. That she is starting to smile. That she is starting to see that they did not just kill her husband to see his blood spill across his throne. She’s starting to see they are intent on rebuilding what he destroyed, wary though she still is of their plans and just how they're going to be carried out.

From his own interactions with her, Ben knows she is a spitfire. A sharp tongue and sharp wit mixed with beauty is an intoxicating and dangerous combination. It’s part of the reason he decided to take her as his instead of just killing her that first day. That, and her knowledge of the empire, limited though it may be. 

And those eyes…

Gods save him, those eyes.

Even as his own become cloudy with lack of sleep, he still thinks of them as he scans the paper in his hand. The one of hundreds scattered across the room. He needs to light more candles, he knows, he needs to brighten the space so that his eyes are not strained, so that he doesn’t get a headache, but the weight upon his shoulders keeps him in the chair. 

Snoke’s office is a strange thing. It’s a room off of the main sitting area of the emperor’s chambers, the room itself no doubt once another, more private sitting room, considering where it is and the size of it. Finn had told him that there is another office, just down the hall, that was the office of the emperor before Snoke had everything moved decades ago. The man worked hard, Ben will give him that, and only that. The empire completely and utterly absorbed him, which is no doubt why his office is a mere twenty paces from where he ate, where he slept. 

Now, with Ben sitting at the desk, the room is a complete disaster. Papers spill through the ornate archway and into the sitting room, tossed in frustration at their lack of usefulness. Candles drip wax onto their beautiful, golden sticks, and a few dots of it are stuck to the mahogany of the desk. Documents, books, letters cover every surface like fallen leaves, and he can’t recall what he’s read and what he hasn’t. He never did have a knack for organization, not like his mother did…

“She doesn’t want elephants,” Poe tells him, striding into the sitting room and almost stepping on a piece of parchment. He looks down, following the trail of parchment to the office. “What the hell?”

Ben looks up from the stack of papers he’s currently rifling through, trying to find anything that would help him, anything at all to plan this damn coronation. There are records of Snoke’s coronation, yes, accounts detailing the extravagant and almost absurd nature of it, but regretfully there’s nothing that details just what a coronation needs. Of course not, that would be much too easy, wouldn’t it?

That doesn’t stop him in his search, though. 

“Elephants?” Ben asks, frowning as he stares at his second in command. Poe tries to navigate his way through the flood of papers, stepping carefully with his eyes focused on the ground.

“Snoke apparently bought her a menagerie,” Poe explains, side stepping some map that looks important. “She doesn’t want a menagerie. She doesn’t want doves. She doesn’t want pearls thrown from the balcony. She wants nothing to be the same.”

It’s the opposite of helpful, truly. The accounts of Snoke’s coronation are old, the parchment a deep yellow and ink fading. Ben’s scared to even pick it up, the edges crumpling and becoming dust the more he touches it. He’d found documentation of their wedding, and in truth was relying on it for expectations, seeing as its newer, and more detailed than the coronation itself. But now she’s insisting she wants none of it.

“He bought her a menagerie…” Ben mutters, turning and looking for that piece of paper he just had, some poet’s account of the events. Where did that go? He just had it in his hand, where could it have gone?

“Yes, but she doesn’t want one,” Poe says, keeping his voice steady and clear to ensure Ben hears him. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“A reasonable question, and one I cannot answer,” Ben mumbles, lifting up a few pages of parchment, the papers crinkling beneath his touch. Where on earth did that paper go? He just had it. He knows he just had it, he just read it, read about cakes with birds in them and a young and beautiful empress dripping with gold and jewels—

“You need sleep, Ben.”

“And I will,” Ben insists, abandoning his search and looking up at Poe. “What else of her?”

“She’s beautiful,” Poe says. 

“Yes, I’m well aware of that. What else?” 

“Nothing you won’t learn in time.”

Ben reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, an attempt to quiet the rumbling storm behind his brow. “Thank you. For your efforts. And for keeping an eye on her.”

“She has a fire in her that’s long been spat on in an attempt to put it out.”

Ben sighs, before he feels a hand in his hair, rough fingers massaging his scalp. Closing his eyes, he leans into the touch. This. This is why Poe is second-in-command. Often he knows what the leader of the Resistance needs before he can even voice it himself. Hux is wonderful in terms of following orders and offering strategies, his mind a masterpiece, but Poe knows the intricacies of Ben. Not just Kylo Ren.

“You need a bath. And a shave.” 

Ben snorts, a poor attempt at a laugh. “Do I smell that horrible?”

“No, but it may clear your mind, if only slightly. What you truly need is sleep, but you’re as stubborn as your mother and father combined. And I know that you will not rest until you are crowned emperor, and can finish what she started.”

The fingers slip from his scalp, and Ben groans, pushing away from the desk. Every bone in his body groans in protest, his joins grinding and muscles stretching as he stands. Gods, how long has he been sitting there? Trying to find answers. Trying to find anything that may help him, anything that may tell him what to do. Even a list of things of what _not _to do would be helpful at this point.

Gods, he needs help…

✥

The palace is grander than he could have ever imagined. There were stories of its magnificence, the amount of gold and marble and rich, carved ebony and mahogany everywhere. But he hadn’t prepared himself for the true glory of it, and though he felt as though he was on top of the world that day, watching blood pour from Snoke’s body and sitting upon the soaked throne, as he stands in the middle of the throne room, he feels miniscule.

He should be doing more. He should be searching for more answers, should be confirming with Hux regarding the food they ordered, the wine they asked for, the meats they wanted. The head chef is a small but stout woman whose fingers make the most delicate pastries, and when asked what she wanted to prepare for the celebration, she practically shook in excitement. “I’ve heard legends of the food at their union-“ 

“Nothing like that,” Ben had insisted immediately. “No birds in cakes. Simple, delicious things.”

She was all too eager to put the effort into the taste rather than the appearance, and he’d been assured there will be a hearty stew, a finely cooked roast, a delicate cake with that powdered sugar that Poe told him Rey’s become obsessed with. Apparently sweets weren't exactly prevalent while Snoke was in charge, and now there’s rarely a time when Rey doesn’t have a plate of them beside her. 

Nothing fancy.

Nothing even remotely similar to _him._

To be honest, that’s the way Ben prefers it, too. 

The flowers have come, all sorts of kinds and all sorts of colors to represent the image of the new empire and new age. Ben watches as those they hired arrange them in vases collected from throughout the palace, some metal, some porcelain, some glass. It’s entirely chaotic, but in the best way, and though the weight on his shoulders is still heavy enough to actually cause physical pain, he can’t help but feel hopeful as he makes his way back to what are now his rooms.

He opens doors as he goes, trying to get a sense of just what everything is, where everything is before he returns to searching for answers. In his search for coronation plans, he also searched for a map of the palace to no avail. Of course, such a thing would likely be in the library, but he hasn’t exactly found that, either, or had the time or energy to go hunting through the halls for it.

There are a handful of doors right near the emperor’s rooms that he hasn’t opened yet. Perhaps rooms for a manservant, Ben thinks, reaching for one of the door handles. This hall of the palace seems to be entirely dedicated to the emperor and his needs. So far he’s found another sitting room, no doubt where the emperor received important guests, as well as a parlor, a game room, the previous office, and yet another gallery showcasing the late emperor's triumphs. They didn’t destroy the trophies of war. Hux had the idea that it would be wise to give the weapons, the armor back to the families of those Snoke murdered. A peace offering. Another step to right Snoke's many, many wrongs.

The door in front of him is difficult to open. Unused is his immediate thought, the hinges creaking as he yanks the handle and stale air assaulting his nose as he steps inside. Almost immediately upon stepping into the room, he bumps the edge of his hip into a chest of some sort, curses flying from his lips as he lifts his gaze to see the rest of the room. 

It’s a storage room, by the looks of it. Ben rubs at the spot on his hip as he takes another, very careful step forward, observing the large and looming shadows of several pieces of furniture. Though some of them are in a reasonable spot, the majority of them look as though they were just placed there, hence how he walked directly into a chest. That’ll leave a bruise, he’s sure of it.

The curtains release a fair amount of dust as he pulls them open, the early evening sun spilling in and illuminating the room. Turning and resisting the urge to sneeze, Ben can see a fair amount of trinkets, of artifacts that don’t fit with the rest of the palace. Things from desert lands, from the jungles to the east, from the barren lands in the north. Snoke must have received them as gifts, before thinking them ugly and putting them in here, Ben reasons, reaching to touch a sort of mask. Judging by the style of it, he'd guess it's from one of the many nomadic clans throughout the empire. It’s both sad and terrible, for an emperor to not only have such disregard for his people, but for the respect and gifts they gave him. 

“May the Gods reject his soul,” Ben mutters under his breath, leaving the mask behind and stepping to where a few things are covered in cream-colored sheets to protect them from dust and sunlight.

One is a wardrobe, smelling strongly of cedar and containing just one gown inside. The frankly obscene amount of gems sparkle in the golden light, the fabric itself looking as though it had been spun from the precious metal itself. It’s all gold and gaudy, the square neckline high and shoulders puffed, the sleeves coming down to a point over where the hand of the wearer is supposed to be. Ben reaches, touching at the gems, feeling how coarse it makes the gown, to have such sharp bits of stone embroidered into it. He lifts the skirt a little, and grunts. It’s heavy. It’s to be expected, considering how full the skirt is and the thickness of the fabric, but it’s still absurd. He closes the door, knowing quite well whose dress it is.

_The young empress wore a gown made of spun gold, wrapped in the wealth of Emperor Snoke. I dare say the gown overwhelmed the poor girl. She looked rather like a pigeon suddenly given the tail of a peacock._

The other sheet-covered object, judging from the shape, is a painting. Tall and wide, the shape of the frame just barely visible beneath the sheet. Stepping forward, Ben braces himself against the urge to cough, the falling sheet sending even more dust motes into the air.

A wedding portrait. More specifically, Emperor Snoke and Empress Rey’s wedding portrait.

In his search for advice, he’d read many descriptions of the empress, and her gown. Which is to be expected, the girl the new jewel of the empire. But he hadn’t found any of Snoke himself. And he wonders if that’s because of the man’s appearance.

He may as well be looking at a family portrait of a girl and her grandfather, he thinks. Whoever painted it took great pains to make Snoke’s disfigurements known, the wounds received in battle and worn proudly. No doubt Snoke insisted upon the detail of the scars, the wrinkles, the way his mouth sort of caved in to the side thanks to a blow to his jaw. Against all odds, he won the battle, and kept his life for many more years. A victory over his enemy, and death, Ben thinks. The greatest enemy of all, death. Of course Snoke would flaunt it.

Rey looks miniscule beside him. Snoke was a tall man, taller than Ben, even. Rey is not so short, but next to her late husband, she looks like a child. Then again, she was young enough to be considered as such. While the descriptions of the empress in writing detailed her freckles, scattered across her cheeks and chest, there are no such marks here. They’ve been omitted in favor of perfect, porcelain skin. Her hair is longer than what it was in the descriptions as well, coming to her mid back in perfect curls when the poet’s description specifically described it as waved to her shoulders.

She looks so young. So sweet. So innocent, though her cheeks are more gaunt and her collarbones more prominent than he remembers them being the last time he saw her in person. Her waist is smaller, too, emphasized by the rigid structure of the golden gown. The poets had described her as a girl of a mere sixteen, from the barren desert land of Jakku. The royal couple’s only child. Emperor Snoke searched for months for a suitable woman to be his bride. Despite many offers, he settled on the practically unknown princess for reasons no one could quite discern. All that was known was that she was young, and sweet, and he gave her parents a decent amount of coin in exchange for her hand. They had accepted, needing the money to help their people. After several droughts, dry harvests, and a handful of plagues, the timing could not have been more perfect.

She looks significantly more demure than Ben knows her to be. The painter, though he did not capture the reality of her skin or her hair, captured her face perfectly well, and the color of her eyes. That golden green and warm brown…

There is no light to them, though. Ben knew this wasn’t exactly a happy marriage, but the portrait confirms it. Snoke’s hand is not on her waist, but on her upper arm, pale and wrinkled as he stands there in his golden robe, the length of it draped artfully across some stairs and then curled at his feet. There is no love in this portrait. No affection. He didn’t expect any, but the distinct lack of it is stark, and disturbing. That, and the way that Snoke is fully facing the viewer, while the empress is turned to the side, her body turned towards the emperor and head only just slightly turned to the viewer…

_Possession. Control. _

These are the empress’s rooms. Ben’s not sure why she is across the palace instead of in the rooms that were meant for her position, but he’s glad she’s where she is. The more physical distance was between her and her late husband, the better off she was.

_Unconsummated._

He’s not a fool. He can put two and two together.

Thank the Gods. She did not – no, _does _not deserve such cruelty. To be forced into a marriage is one thing. To be forced into a marriage bed is very much another.

“Your organization methods are the definition of chaos,” Hux declares, looking up at the emperor-to-be as Ben steps back into his rooms, his mind still lingering on the empress in the portrait. The general is making a vain attempt to organize the many papers Ben had been rummaging through, standing in the middle of the storm. “Have you been fitted for your coronation wear yet?”

“I have not.” It had slipped his mind. Yes, he had needed to go to the kitchen to confirm the meal, go to approve the design of the insignia, go to check the flowers… he knew he was forgetting something. And then he had become distracted by gold and green, and the sadness in them.

Hux points to the door, raising one ginger brow. “Go.”

He wants to argue, wants to say he is the emperor and he will not be ordered like a dog. But alas, he is not emperor yet. And he knows better than to argue with Hux. Poe he could banter with all afternoon, but Hux…

Another walk will do him good.

✥

His heart refuses to settle in his chest.

The eve before the coronation is a quiet one. The preparations are set to begin before the sun rises, and so he has no doubt those who could turn in early did. He’d tried. He’d truly did. He drank chamomile tea at the suggestion of Hux, tried pacing until his legs ached, tried reading boring accounts of Snoke’s coronation until his eye lids felt heavy. But even though he feels exhausted, his pulse is still racing, and his gaze is still towards the wall, the shadows flickering with the flames.

He blinks, and wakes to shouting outside, the calls of the guards as they receive the bakers, the wine makers, those who come bearing food and banners and everything else he or Hux called for.

Though the pale grey sky tells him that he slept for at least a handful of hours, he feels as though he only slept a few seconds, his head pounding and his entire body aching as he sits up and forces himself from the comfortable cocoon of blankets and pillows.

“You didn’t sleep," Poe accuses, lingering in the bedroom and leaning against one of the bannisters of the obscenely large bed.

“I did,” Ben insists, splashing his face with cool water. “It doesn’t feel as though I did, but I did.”

“It doesn’t look like you did, either.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Poe presents him with the embroidered jerkin. It’s much finer than anything he’s ever worn. Amilyn and her seamstresses have truly outdone themselves, and he makes a note to give her another pouch of coins to distribute to the hands who worked on the piece. It’s no easy feat to create something so beautiful, and so quickly.

The small embroidered sunbursts of golden thread glitter against the dark blue velvet, an image that came to him the night after Snoke’s death. The new empire will be the sun after an age of darkness. Snoke’s people have made it through the dark chill of night, and now it is time to see the sunrise, and be greeted with warmth and brightness.

The brilliant seamstress took the concept and ran with it, ran farther than he even considered. “Hers will have stars,” Amilyn had explained, when she presented him with the sketches. “She was one of the few bright spots in the darkness.” 

He could have kissed the woman in that moment.

He is told that Rey’s dress, though the embroidery is silver, will be the same rich blue as his jerkin. Amilyn was against matching completely. He didn’t protest.

The world around him is, confusingly, both clear and clouded. He can recall seeing things, but he can't recall his movements. He very clearly recalls Poe helping him dress, before the man goes to assist Rey. He very clearly recalls walking down one of the smaller staircases, wishing to avoid the crowds of people he can see spilling into the main halls, the courtyard, the throne room itself. There are already hundreds of people, crowded all the way up to the platform where Snoke’s throne rests, the blood of the former emperor darkening the red velvet in spots. It’s gruesome, but poignant. It was his decision not to have it cleaned.

_Let them see_, he’d said._ Let those who didn’t see the act be reminded of it, and the changes that will come from his demise._

There is one priest. A younger priest who did not let the promise of riches and power blind him into accepting Snoke as one of the gods he so worships. According to Hux, the priests of the capital city are shaken, receiving no answer from their precious gods as to whether Snoke joined them. It will take more than a handful of days for them to accept the truth, and to come to the realization that they were taken advantage of, and made fools of. There were once twelve at the temple. Now, Hux reports, there are a mere four, the rest heading towards more sacred places in hopes of finding sanctuary, enlightenment, and forgiveness.

Ben waits, standing in front of one of the grand, gilded doors that opens into the throne room. He is to come from the right door, and Rey is to come from the left, meeting in the middle in front of the priest. A joining of two lives, two souls, two rulers. Coming together to start anew.

Gods, he hopes he does right…

There is no music. There was music at Snoke’s coronation, and at their union. One of the writers described it as an intense upswing of string instruments, of flutes, the sounds overwhelming and almost grating.

There is no music, this time. Just the sound of two sets of doors opening. The two men behind his door open it with one smooth motion, and Ben finds himself staring out into the throne room, the throne and platform to his right and the crowds of people to his left. And there she is, right in front of him.

He’d seen the sketch, of course. He knew Amilyn’s basic plan. But he was not prepared for how different it truly looks. _Different,_ he’d insisted. _Nothing the same_, she had wanted. The gown is certainly that, much looser and significantly less overdone than her previous union gown had been. She looks radiant, so much so that he almost forgets to step forward when she does.

He can practically hear the heartbeats of the hundreds – no, thousands of people filling the throne room. They are at the balconies, filling the immense hall as the late morning sunlight spills through the towering glass windows that overlook the green sea. Rey keeps her steps slow and steady, and he follows her lead. There was no time to practice. Does one practice for a coronation? He’d looked over the vows, both of the coronation and the union, but there was little in the descriptions of how quickly to walk, what to do, what to say aside from the vows… 

Her hands are clasped in front of her, her knuckles nearly white as they step up to one another. She curtsies. Is he supposed to bow? He’s unsure, but by the time he considers it and nearly bends at his waist to do so, the priest is already speaking.

“We are gathered to celebrate the dawn of a new age. The start of a new empire. The crowning of a new emperor, and his empress.”

He recognizes the crowns from some faded sketch he found, and the wedding portrait of the woman beside him and the man he ran through with a blade. They are from centuries past, a tradition not even Snoke dared to disturb. The young priest gestures a hand to the throne, and Ben takes that as his cue to sit. He climbs the few steps up to it. He didn’t climb them before, that fateful day. He had snuck behind the platform, behind the rich velvet curtains that flank the throne. It’s strange to climb them now, his gaze upon one of the darker stains upon the throne. The small cut where his sword had nicked the velvet has been stitched. He did tell them to repair that.

The hard gold of the throne digs into his elbows as he settles into it, the chair made for appearances and not for comfort. He rests his gloved hands upon the arms of the throne, hearing footsteps beside him as Poe approaches the platform, and steps to his side. Rey still remains lower, watching with her hands clasped in front of her as the priest takes the crown in his hands.

No doubt if Snoke had his way, the crown would be covered in more jewels and filigree than it already is. It has jewels, yes, pearls representative of the original empire’s spread along the sea. There is decoration, some carvings of flora and fauna, but it is not nearly as ornate as the throne is. The weight of it upon his head makes Ben inhale sharply.

“Take off the gloves,” Poe mutters, low enough that only the emperor-to-be hears it. “Hand them to me.” 

Ben does as told, pulling off the buttery black leather and handing them to his second-in-command. The gold of the scepter is pressed into his hand. Once a short staff, for every emperor there has been a segment added, each segment the length of the emperor’s thumb. Ben did not have to search for that knowledge, the symbolism of the piece taught throughout the empire. He can see which segments were those of emperors past, their golden bits more modest, and which piece is Snoke’s. The symbol of the gods, a glass orb, sits atop, about the size of an orange. It adds a good amount of weight to the staff, and Ben holds it as best as he can, looking out towards the people. His people. The ones he promised a better future, a better life… 

A better ruler. 

“Do you solemnly promise and swear to protect your people? From the newest child to the oldest man?”

“I so do promise.”

“Do you solemnly promise and swear to uphold the ideals of the empire, to judge with fairness and logic, to commit to the wishes of the gods and to follow their guidance?”

“I so do promise.”

“Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of the empire according to the respected covenant established by those who have ruled before you?”

“I so do promise.”

“Do you solemnly promise and swear to regard every man, woman, and child within the empire’s borders as one of your people, and treat them with respect, kindness, and fairness?”

“I do solemnly promise.”

“May you consult the Gods as you rule. May they bless your reign, and your people. May the Gods acknowledge and approve of Emperor Kylo Ren. May their people accept you as their ruler, protector, and guide into a new age.” 

“We accept Emperor Ren as our ruler, protector, and guide.” 

The roar of his people makes his chest reverberate. The entire room comes alive with breath, with heartbeats, with the vow that they will trust him to make good on the promises he made to them. Ben tries to breathe, but nearly chokes, and has to hold it until his lungs stop their spasming. His heart still shakes, though, feeling as though it is buzzing in his chest as the priest raises his hands. 

“Stand,” Poe mutters under his breath, and Ben does so. Perhaps he did so a little too eagerly, but within seconds, the crowd is hailing his name. The priest must have said something. He can’t recall what.

“All hail Emperor Ren! All hail Emperor Ren!”

Where there should be warmth, and pride, and happiness, there is only cold and fear as he looks out towards the people. No, his people. He doesn’t let his face betray his nervousness, as he continues to stand, holding the scepter and focusing his gaze on the distant door.

He doesn’t know how this works. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. For all of the descriptions of the decorations, the food, the clothes of the emperor and empress, and the vows themselves, there was nothing about how to combine a union with a coronation. It feels right, though, to step forward, to offer his hand towards Rey, who is staring at him with those wide, gold-green eyes. 

She hesitates but for a moment, before her fingers unknit themselves, and she reaches her hand up to rest it in his. He holds it as she gathers her skirts in the other hand, stepping up to the platform, the long, crystal-studded train sending small rainbows across the room as the sun finds it. 

“I ask you to join me in celebrating the union of Princess Rey of Jakku, and Emperor Kylo Ren.” 

Her hand is so soft, small in his grip as they stand before the priest. Ben turns, handing the scepter off to Poe so that he may hold both of his bride’s hands. She stares up at him, her face unreadable. He wonders if she sees anything in his.

“Princess Rey, do you solemnly promise and swear to speak the truth in the presence of the Gods regarding this man and your commitment to him?”

“I so do promise.”

He regrets that it’s been a few days since he’s heard her voice. The strength in it doesn’t surprise him. If there is one thing this woman excels at, it is putting strength behind her words. 

“Do you vow to take this man as your husband? To stand by his side during days of happiness, and in days of hardship?”

“I so do vow.” Her voice doesn’t shake as she stares up at him, still holding his hands.

“Do you vow to support him in times of illness, and in times of great health?”

“I so do vow.”

“Do you vow to have and to hold him from this day forward, until the day you depart this realm?”

“I so do vow.”

“Emperor Ren.” 

“Yes,” Ben breathes. He wonders if his heartbeat is audible to the woman in front of him, to the crowd beyond, to the men and women standing in the courtyard. He wouldn't be surprised it if was.

“Do you vow to take this woman as your wife? To stand by her side during days of happiness, and in days of hardship?”

“I so do vow.”

“Do you vow to support her in times of illness, and in times of great health?”

“I so do vow.” 

“Do you vow to have and to hold her from this day forward, until the day you depart this realm?”

“I so do vow.”

“Do either of you wish to make your own promise before the eyes and ears of the Gods?”

“I do,” Ben says, before he can stop the words from falling from his lips. Rey stares at him in surprise, her eyes widening ever so slightly.

“So be it. May the Gods listen.”

“I vow to see you,” Ben says simply, before his words fail him. What else can he say? What else could he possibly say to her to earn her trust when her late husband’s blood still remains not three steps away? His mouth becomes dry, and no more words come. He looks to the priest, who looks mildly confused before nodding. 

“The Gods have heard your vows, and through me approve this union. May they bless your days together.” 

Rey is the first to pull her hands from his. He lets his hands fall to his sides, before he goes to sit back on the throne to watch his wife be crowned. 

_Gods._ His wife. She is now his _wife. _

His mouth remains dry as he watches her take her vows. Since she does not have a throne to sit upon as she takes hers, she kneels before the priest instead. Her diadem bears pearls as well, the design and construction of it more delicate than Ben’s. The priest holds it above her head, asking her almost the exact same questions he asked Ben. Whether she will protect her people, whether she will judge fairly, whether she will follow the covenant that has been in place for centuries, now, since the first emperor. She speaks the same words Ben had. 

“I so do promise.”

There is that same strength to her voice.

"Do you promise and swear to support the emperor as he guides and protects your people? Do you promise and swear to stand by his side through his reign, and offer guidance and love when it is so needed?"

"I so do promise."

"Do you promise to stand in his stead should misfortune fall upon the emperor, and he is found unfit to assume the throne, whether in mind or in body?"

"I so do promise."

"May the Gods acknowledge and approve of Empress Rey. May they give you strength and guidance to support the emperor, and rule in his stead should the need arise. May their people accept you as their ruler, their protector, and their guide."

“We accept Empress Rey as our ruler, our protector, and our guide."

The diadem is slipped onto her head, nestled in dark chestnut curls. She stands. There is no scepter for her, nothing to occupy her hands. Instead, she moves to where Ben is sitting on the throne. She stands beside him, her train magnificent, trailing down the platform and out towards their people. He will have to thank Amilyn, for it makes a fine visual as they look out towards the heart of their empire – its people. 

“All hail Empress Rey and Emperor Ren!” It starts with one voice. The priest’s. 

“All hail Empress Rey and Emperor Ren!” Poe’s voice joins. 

It does not take long for it to become a roar. Ben swears he can feel the palace shake with the volume of thousands of voices in triumphant chorus. He turns his head ever so slightly, looking to Rey, and seeing that she has one hand on the arm of the throne, just behind where his elbow rests. Her knuckles are practically white as she stares out towards the thousands of people. His gaze shifting upwards, the lower neckline of the gown allows him to see her breasts rising and falling deeply. Her eyes are almost vacant.

He resists the urge to reach for her, knowing very well that she will not accept such touch, such comfort from the man who murdered her husband, who is literally sitting in his blood, wearing his crown and forcing her to once again don hers. 

“All hail Empress Rey and Emperor Ren! All hail Empress Rey and Emperor Ren! All hail Empress Rey and Emperor Ren!”

The new age has well and truly begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to those expecting a traditional "kiss the bride" but we're going full on slow burn, people. Like 2005 Pride and Prejudice hand-touch sort of slow burn. Don't worry, good (and hot) things come to those who wait! 
> 
> And if this universe had a "kiss the bride" portion to the ceremony, that means Rey would have kissed Snoke. And nobody wants that. Ever. So yeah. Blech.
> 
> This may seem silly, but I figured I'd share anyway. If any of you are a fan of M*A*S*H, I totally imagine the priest as the spitting image of Father Mulcahy. I don't know why, but he seems like the right face for someone open to a new age of kindness and equality.


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the absolutely wonderful response last chapter! I'm still giddy over a lot of the comments I received! I know this one's a little slap-dash in some ways, but trust me, it'll all come together :) 
> 
> If you want to listen to the song I was listening to while writing the dancing scene, it's this one! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CJqB1J7ndE And this was my second choice. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPxASavXz2o So go have a listen! Both work with the scene, I think.

There is truly nothing the same about the celebration.

The night of her first union, she heard more laughter in a single heartbeat than she’d had in years. To her young, naïve ears, it was a blessing, the most beautiful sound. Now she knows that the giggles and chuckles forced from the lips of ladies and lords were very, very much faked.

This – the laughter of people looking forward to new hope, new days, new opportunities – this is true laughter. Sweet. Kind. Warm. 

There was no table before. There were no chairs. It wouldn’t have been possible to fit all of the outlandish and absurd gowns of the ladies of the court, and so they just didn't offer them. Instead, she stood for hours, her feet aching in the too-tight, heeled slippers and shoulders aching from the weight of her golden gown. Her husband was elsewhere. She had been left alone to mingle, but there were more people in the grand ballroom than there had been in all of Jakku combined. To say she was overwhelmed would be a vast understatement.

Almost every table from the castle has been brought into the grand hall. Every chair. Every bench. It is long, and then it turns, and continues one way, then it turns again and continues back, making a U shape. Already there are people sitting at the table, laughing, reaching for fruits and bread and cheese as they wait for the main meal.

“Is it different enough?” 

The emperor’s voice comes from behind her, and she tenses. He comes up beside her, not touching her, not offering his hand or his arm or putting his palm against her lower back like Snoke had, guiding her like a puppet. She’s grateful for the lack of touch. Turning her head, she looks up at him. 

“Surely not everyone will be able to sit?” Rey asks, confused.

“No,” Kylo Ren – no, Emperor Ren – says as he looks out to the table. “But watch.”

Rey shifts her gaze to the people, their people, and watches.

There is a larger group of people her eyes gravitate towards. Three are standing, four are sitting. She watches as one of the standing women gestures to the bench, her lips still parted in a laugh, and then the man who is sitting gets up, even helping her into the chair. When she sits, she reaches for a piece of bread, offering it to the man who just gave up his seat for her. And just like that, they are talking, laughing, smiling again, as though nothing changed.

One of the other men gestures to the bench, and the woman sitting stands. Rey tries to swallow the bitter bile in the back of her throat as he pats his thigh, his eyebrow raised in question. But to the empress’s surprise, the woman laughs, nodding before perching on his leg, continuing her conversation.

It’s all fluid. It’s all a system of give, take, give. And there are those who stand up and leave entirely, who move to dance. There is no full orchestra, nothing like Snoke had. There are a few men and women with their instruments, playing common songs. Nothing like the swelling, flourishing waltzes and ballads that Snoke had arranged for his orchestra to play.

There was never much to celebrate on Jakku. They held festivals, sacrifices with dancing and music and fire in an attempt to please the Gods so that they may have rain. And when the rain did come, they danced and sacrificed to thank the Gods. But after a few years, the rain stopped coming. And so they stopped dancing.

This… this is truly a celebration. This is not a show of wealth, of power, of taste. This is not the social event of the century. This is not where people come to flaunt their jewels, their vocabulary, their knowledge. This is so, so much warmer. This is more hopeful. This is human.

It does not take away the heaviness in her chest, or the bile in her throat entirely. No, only time can well and truly take way the bitterness and fear.

But seeing these people, her people. It helps a bit.

Even if she is doubtful of just how much he can do to help them. 

Kylo Ren steps forward, and she follows. There are two empty seats on the inside of the U. When there were grand and fanciful dinners with Snoke, they sat at a table above everyone else, flanked by his most trusted officers and advisors. Now, Kylo Ren is pulling out one of the chairs, right next to an older woman, and gesturing for her to sit. She does so, letting him push her in.

“This bread is heavenly,” the old woman declares, her face bearing as many lines as the empire bears roads. The woman's wrinkled hands remind her a bit too much of Snoke’s, but Rey offers a smile anyways as the woman grabs a buttery, braided roll and sets it upon Rey’s plate.

“Thank you,” Rey says, her voice barely more than a whisper as she feels her new husband settle in beside her. 

Within moments, a bowl of hearty stew is placed in front of her. Her mouth waters as she stares at the tender beef, the herbs floating in the broth, the smell of it enveloping her. Stew. She knows what stew is. At her and Snoke’s union celebration, she had to turn to him and ask him what everything was. The first question he thought endearing, touching her cheek and calling her pet names. The second question he turned into a joke, asking his advisors and officers what they thought of the little girl who had no idea what a souffle was. The third question he didn’t even bother to answer, leaving her to figure out exactly what she was eating. She never did figure out what kind of bird she had been given, or what it had been stuffed with, or why it was surrounded by flowers. 

The sound of liquid pouring into a glass startles her, and she jumps as she looks to her right, seeing Kylo Ren pouring her a cup of wine from the crystal carafe on the table. He says nothing, merely pouring her the beverage before he pours his own. An emperor pouring his own wine. Rey stares, watching as he carefully sets the carafe down before reaching for the glass.

Rey takes hers, about to take a sip when she stops, and extends her glass to her new husband. Kylo Ren stops, the crystal almost touching his lower lip as he stares at her. 

“In Jakku,” Rey explains, "it is custom for the bride and groom to exchange glasses. It is an offering of peace, and unity.” She pauses. “And to ensure neither of them have been poisoned.”

Kylo Ren meets her gaze, before looking down to the glass in her hand. “Logical,” he mutters, before he’s offering his glass to her.

They switch, and before Rey can have time to take a sip, Kylo’s already drinking from her glass, his dark eyes holding hers the entire time. She remains still as he takes a large sip, the deep color of the wine staining his plush lips. She watches him a moment more before she takes her own, smaller sip. 

It’s sweet. She likes it enough to follow his example of taking a large sip, feeling warmth in her chest as she drinks.

She hadn’t mentioned the custom to Snoke. She'd felt too embarrassed to.

✥

The dances at her and Snoke’s union celebration were stiff things. There were many curtsies, and bows, and hands in the air, fingers just barely touching. Wooden, jerky movements. Nothing like the smooth, fluid motions of Jakku’s dancing. At that point in the celebration, she hadn’t even tried. Snoke didn’t extend his hand to her to dance, and she hadn’t asked. She didn’t know the steps. And there were plenty of steps. And hands raising. And hands lowering.

While there is no one specific style of dancing at this celebration, there does seem to be a basic style that people have adapted. One that involves one partner holding the hand of the other, while the woman’s hand goes to the man’s shoulder. Granted, that’s just what she’s seeing for the most part. There are men together, women together, each assuming the parts they are comfortable with.

“What style of dancing is this?” Rey asks, holding a cup of wine and watching, frowning as she watches the couples spin and turn. There is a basic series of steps, it seems, but what they do with them varies. A few couples barely move from the circle they seem to step inside, others are spinning across the floor.

Poe stands next to her, watching the dance floor as well. “I don’t know where it came from,” he explains. “But it can be found in Yavin, and in several cities across the empire.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“Really?” Poe asks, frowning at her. “How did you dance with Snoke, then?”

“I didn’t dance with him,” Rey answers curtly as she reaches for one of the cookies on his plate. The powdered sugar covers the fingers of the blue gloves Amilyn had given her to take the visual place of the train, the tops of them coming up mid-upper arm and the hem embroidered with the same stars. “He didn’t ask me to, and I didn’t know the steps well enough. It was complicated, and stiff.”

“Sounds like fun,” Poe mutters sarcastically. 

“What sounds fun?” Kylo Ren asks, returning from wherever he’d gone. One moment he was beside her, and the next he was gone. And Rey has to admit, she enjoyed the time to breathe, to have just a moment or two to herself.

“Snoke’s dancing. Stiff and complicated, Rey says,” Poe explains.

“Sounds about right,” Kylo mutters, looking out to the dance floor.

Rey watches the couples spin and sway, and can’t help but smile as she sees a few children on the floor as well. They twirl with wild abandon, nearly careening into each other. It’s sweet, and she hides her grin behind the lip of her wine glass as she watches them. 

“Rey.”

Poe’s voice makes her turn her head, and she hums. “Hm?” 

Kylo Ren’s hand is extended towards her, his hands once more covered in the black leather gloves. The same ones she remembers against her cheek the day of the uprising. Snoke's blood has been cleaned from them. She stills, wondering just how long he’d been offering his hand to her before she insists, “I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy,” Poe promises.

“It doesn’t look it,” she protests.

“It is,” Poe insists, reaching to take her wine from her. “Go on.”

Rey gives Poe the best glare she can manage with her new husband a mere foot or so away, before she’s taking the new emperor’s hand. Gods, her hand looks so small in his… Snoke didn’t take her hand often. He touched her, yes, on her cheek and lower back and upper arm, occasionally, but he very rarely took her hand. The best she can remember is their union day. 

She only recognizes a few of the songs they are playing. Most she heard the servant women singing while they were scrubbing floors or washing clothes. While the words did not stay with her, the melodies did, and a few times she found herself humming them. They’re far more easy to remember than Snoke’s preferred waltzes. 

The song that starts is a waltz. Gentle. Pretty. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s heard the melody before, yes, at her and Snoke’s union. But instead of swelling strings and overwhelming horns covering the tune and turning it into something much grander than it truly is, this version is stripped down, and much more lovely and delicate.

The emperor’s hand upon her waist startles her, and she inhales sharply, her gaze turning from the small group of players to her husband. That’s right, yes, he’s her husband now.

“Forgive me,” he mutters, moving his hand up more towards her back. She can feel the heat of him through the glove, through the thin material of the dress. She swallows the lump in her throat, and lets him take her hand, holding it up and out ever so slightly as they step. 

He steps forward, and she steps back. He steps left, and she follows him. It’s not the smoothest dance, no, considering the couples spinning circles around them, but it’s decent. And she can count the beats, can count when her feet are supposed to move, and after about two rounds, she can tell where he is going.

They do not move fluidly together. It’s a little awkward, if she’s entirely honest, especially when he lets her go and lifts his arm up. She’s opening her mouth to ask why, to ask why he’s letting her go, when out of the corner of her eye she sees another man do the same to his partner. Ah. Right. That’s apparently something that comes with this dance. Rey turns, still holding her husband’s hand as best as she can before she’s being pulled back into his arms. 

She can practically taste her heartbeat on her tongue as she stares up at him. Gods, he is tall, and broad. So very broad…

“What were dances on Jakku like?” 

Like the day he apologized for pressing for such intimate details, his words come out in a rush. Nervous. But then again, she is, too. If someone were to put their fingers upon her throat, she’s sure they would ask how she could possibly still be alive with a heart racing as much as hers is.

“Fluid,” Rey explains. “Natural. Improvised. There were no steps, not really. If there were, I never learned them, and they were forgotten over the years. My people stopped dancing a few years before Snoke took me.”

“Why did you stop?” 

“We danced for rain,” Rey explains, her voice softening ever so slightly. “When none came, it wasn’t worth the energy wasted when there was work to be done, instead.”

Her new husband says nothing. He just keeps holding onto her, going through the motions with her until—

Rey squeaks as she’s guided backwards. “What are you doing?!” she hisses, vaguely hearing Poe’s bright laughter from the side, Finn’s chuckles joining the sound. Kylo Ren’s hand is the only thing holding her up as he dips her, her hand clutching his in a vice-like grip as she clings to his shoulder.

Kylo Ren says nothing, but continues to hold her, his hand pressed to her back and keeping her from falling to the hard marble floor.

After a few moments of her heart beating faster than she ever thought it could, he lifts her back up, and out of the corner of her eye she can see the man who twirled his partner before lifting her back up as well.

So it’s a move in the dance, Rey thinks, biting her tongue and loosening her grip on the new emperor’s hand. She wants to say he should have warned her, wants to say something about how she could have easily fallen, but she doesn’t. Instead, she watches as he stops, the song ending. He pulls his hand from her back, but lingers on letting go of her hand, his gaze finding the smudges of white powdered sugar on the fingers of her gloves. 

He says nothing. He just stares at the sugar for a moment before he’s letting her go, and turning. His steps are quick, stilted as he walks off. 

Rey hurries off of the dance floor, towards Poe and Finn, grabbing her cup of wine from Poe and glaring at him. “You should have said something about the dipping,” she hisses, taking a long, much-needed drink of the wine. 

“I didn’t know he was going to do that,” Poe insists. 

Looking out towards the room, Rey looks for gold and blue, broad shoulders and dark hair. But she sees nothing, and tries to force her heartbeat down from her throat back into her chest by swallowing yet another mouthful of wine.

✥

The night of her and Snoke’s union, she was fetched by some servant. She’d been in the empress’s rooms, then, but instead of being summoned through the door connecting the emperor’s rooms and the empress’s rooms, a servant had come to the door that opens to the hall. She had walked in her nightgown, in her robe, with bare feet against the cold marble, to Snoke’s door before knocking, as had been ordered of her.

Now, she waits.

She doesn’t know where that original nightgown went. The one with the white frothy lace, the one that made her feel even more childlike than she’d already felt. Her purity was emphasized by the frilliness of the thing, the white, the way it made her look even more shapeless when she barely had a shape to begin with. While the golden dress was structured, the nightgown had been very much not. 

There was no nightgown presented to her tonight, no mess of ribbons and lace on the bed for her to change into. And so she picks one that she’s actually comfortable in, that’s perhaps worn a little thin from constant wear, but it’s coming off anyway, isn’t it? It needs to. 

Someone’s going to come fetch her. Eventually. 

By the time the celebration ended, the moon had risen high and the stars had come out. Their guests, their people, had trickled out of the main gate, those who contributed to the celebration holding velvet pouches of coins for their time and efforts. That had been hours ago, now, at least two. Still, she waits, because that’s what she had done before.

There is no shadow to watch under the door this time, though. No low mumbling to listen to. Instead, there is the tick of the large clock in her sitting room, and her own heartbeat.

By the time the clock strikes one, she’s had enough, and stands. She doesn’t reach for her robe. She doesn’t even reach for slippers. She stands, and pulls open her door, looking out into the darkened halls. The sconces flicker, just barely lit as she makes her way across the palace. The emperor’s rooms are on the same level, so it merely takes a bit of weaving, a bit of navigating through the dark. She knows the route, though, could make it with her eyes closed, unfortunately.

She knows this door. But she’s never knocked on this door. She’d never had the need to. Someone was always escorting her.

The feeling of the carved wood beneath her knuckles is strange. Even stranger is that the “Come in,” is directed solely to her, and not her and her escort.

The sitting room is warm, the fire lit and roaring. She can’t see anyone sitting on the couches or in the armchairs. The bedroom door is closed.

She knows she’s shaking, but she can’t help it as she turns, her gaze finding where new her husband is sitting at her late husband’s desk. There are papers spread before him, his hand on a quill, the redheaded man, Hux, and Poe sitting in chairs they had pulled over, all staring at her as she stands there in her thin nightgown.

Immediately, Rey wraps her arms around herself for some sort of modesty, staring directly at Kylo Ren. 

Kylo Ren looks to Poe. Poe looks to Kylo Ren. Hux looks confused. 

“For someone who was so concerned about whether or not my marriage to Snoke was consummated, you seem to have forgotten that ours is supposed to be, as well,” Rey says, wondering if her shaking is so noticeable to them, or whether it’s all in her head as she stands and waits. 

“We should go,” Poe stands suddenly, nearly toppling the chair he was sitting in over. He grabs Hux by the arm, tugging him up as well. 

“And miss this conversation?” Hux asks as he’s tugged along. 

“We’re going,” Poe insists, pulling the redhead with him. “We’re going.” 

Her new husband is still staring at her. Rey doesn’t turn to watch the other men leave. The sound of the door closing and their not-so-quiet bickering just beyond it is enough for her. She can hear as they move down the hall, can tell the moment they are out of earshot. 

The sound of the great desk chair scraping against the stone of the office floor is grating, and makes her chest quake and nerves buzz even more than they already were. Kylo Ren has changed from most of his coronation garb, the embroidered jerkin abandoned and the pale cream tunic replaced with a looser, softer-looking grey one. Rey forces herself to swallow, to breathe, as he steps forward towards her. 

“Do you want to consummate the marriage?” 

“It’s a requirement for a union to be legitimate,” Rey insists as he takes another step closer.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t see how what I want has anything to do with this.” It’s a hiss as he steps even closer, now a mere three feet from her. “When I married Snoke, one of his men fetched me from the empress’s rooms, and brought me to him. Did no one tell you that you had to call for me?” 

“I wasn’t intending on calling for you.”

There’s something sharp on her tongue about reading minds, but instead she tightens her arms around herself, her chin up and eyes hard as she regards her new husband. “And why not?”

“Because,” he says, before he stops. He hesitates. Rey waits, waits as his eyes slip down to somewhere near her collarbone, before he returns his gaze to hers. “Because consummation is an old-age ritual. And we are entering a new age. One where consummation will no longer be required in order for a union to be considered legitimate."

Rey resists the urge to let her lips slip open, her jaw drop, resists the urge to gape at him like a fish. “There are some traditions-“ she starts to say.

“If you want to consummate the marriage, then by all means, the bedroom is through that door, and I will join you shortly,” Kylo Ren insists, gesturing to the door. “But your marriage to Snoke wasn’t consummated.”

The empress stands silent, her arms still wrapped around herself as she stares up at her new husband.

“If you wish to take the reasoning to your grave, then you may,” Kylo mutters. In the dark of the room, with the fire making all of the shadows so much harsher than any other light this day, she can see the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin. His hair in disarray. “But regardless of the reason, your marriage to him was unconsummated. And yet you still stood by his side as his wife, as his empress. You were still seen as his partner.” 

“People talked-“ Rey starts.

“People talk about everything,” Kylo Ren interrupts. “You didn't want to consummate your marriage with Snoke. If I tell you that I intend to decree tomorrow that consummation is no longer required for a union to be considered legitimate, do you still want to consummate this marriage?” 

There is no answer immediately on her tongue. She can’t even open her lips as though to form one. Instead she finds herself motionless, her nails digging ever so slightly into the flesh of her upper arms. She looks past him to the bedroom door, feeling her heart clench. 

_Our marriage will not be consummated._

It was said so simply four years ago, the man sitting in the winged chair in his bedroom. That same chair he used to have her perch on his thigh in, used to have her kneel before him in, just to tell her how pretty she was, nothing more even though it felt so wrong—

She didn’t ask why. She didn’t have to. He continued anyway, before she could even get over her shock. 

_I am pursuing a path to the heavens. Humanly vices must be left behind. This includes passion and pleasure. I will not pleasure you, and you will not pleasure me. Once a month, you will come and sleep in my bed. I will not join you. Is that understood?_

She remembers the great lengths her mother went to to explain every bit of detail to her, that oil must be used, that it will hurt, that she will bleed, that if she was lucky it will be over quickly— 

She had nodded, four years ago.

_Speak, girl. Is that understood?_

_Yes._

_Yes, what?_

_Yes, Your Imperial Majesty._

_Good girl._

She shakes her head before realizing it may not be enough. "No," she says. 

"No what?" It's gentle. 

Her voice shakes, but despite that, it's strong. "No, I do not want to consummate this marriage." 

"Then we won't."

He says it so simply, like he's not rewriting years of tradition. Like it's so simple to just say _no_.

Perhaps it was so simple. But it never seemed like it would be.

She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until a handkerchief is extended to her. It’s obviously old, a little stained in some places, brown-ish yellowed stains from blood, no doubt years of nosebleeds and small wounds. The hem is fraying ever so slightly, but she takes it, the fabric buttery-smooth to the touch from wear and use as she wipes the tears from her cheeks.

Consummation is an old-age tradition. This is a new age. And he's right. People still saw her as Snoke's wife, still called her an Imperial Majesty even though they never...

Even though he never...

_It's not required. It will not be required. _

_She said no. She's allowed to say no._

The relief that suddenly floods her body makes her gasp, before she’s laughing and crying at the same time. She keeps folding the handkerchief over and over, trying to find dry spots as the tears keep coming, as she stands with her shoulders shaking and chest heaving with both laughter and sobs. She'd been worried for hours, no, days, now, thinking about this night. Thinking about the pain, the blood, her mother telling her to _pray that he will release quickly so that it will be over soon..._

He doesn’t comfort her. He doesn’t reach out and touch her, doesn’t pull her into his arms. And she is grateful. She’s not entirely sure how she would react to such an action, even though there’s a small sliver of her that wants it, that comfort, that gentle touch. But not now. No, not now. She needs... she needs time.

“I want to have you moved back to the empress’s rooms. Is that reasonable?”

His voice is so soft, so low, and Rey nods. Yes. Yes, she liked the empress’s rooms, before Snoke ordered her across the palace. A distraction, he'd called her. She had been a distraction, her footsteps in the night, the first week she felt dreadfully homesick. Within four days, she had been moved.

She liked the empress’s rooms. They overlooked the cliffs, the sea she so loved. Loves. The one _he_ forbade her from ever stepping into again.

A cup is pressed into her hands. She’s grateful it’s bronze and not crystal. Her hand is shaking so much she fears she’d drop it. Cool, sweet water graces her tongue. Gods, she feels like a child after a nightmare. Standing in her nightgown, shaking, with tear-stained cheeks and being given a cup of water as though that can solve everything. 

_There, there, little one, it was only a dream, it’s all over now, you’ve woken up. It’s all right. You’ll be all right._

_It’s all right._

Maybe not yet. The shadowy tendrils of the nightmare still linger, in the wood of his desk. In the stains on his throne. In the carvings of that damned door she stood in front of every month. In the walls, in the floors, in the palace itself. In the entire empire itself.

But those tendrils, those shadows are leaving. Slowly, yes, Gods, too damn slowly. It will take time, she knows. But they are leaving. Thank the Gods, they are leaving.

“Would you like me to escort you back?” 

Rey shakes her head. She’d seen the piles of papers. He was busy, doing … something. “No. No, I can go back myself.” 

The walk back to her rooms is a blur of gentle flickering flames and shadows. She remembers the path little. She can remember certain busts of past emperors, can remember certain blank walls where paintings once hung. But she can’t recall the entire walk. She stands in the middle of the room, the handkerchief balled in her fist and the bronze water cup clenched between her hands as she thinks she should have worn slippers, her feet aching from the hard marble.

The handkerchief is wrinkled terribly by the time she unfolds it, going to set it by the basin of water where she had wiped off the powders and rouge she wore for the coronation. The small B, embroidered in pale blue, catches her attention, and she stares at the little letter, her fingers running over it. The threads are a bit loose in places, matching the condition of the rest of the handkerchief, but yes, that is a B. Not a K. Not an R. A _B._

_Kylo Ren._ The king killer. It can’t be his real name, and yet he is now Emperor Ren. 

Rey stands there, her fingers tracing the lines of the B once more before she sets the handkerchief aside in favor of looking in the mirror. Gods, she looks a mess, her eyes red and puffy.

_B. _

The letter lingers as she looks out towards the balcony, to the dark navy night. As she climbs into bed, warm and soft and_ safe. _

_B. _

_Brandon. Brayden. Barrett. Byron. Ben. Baldric. Bale. Bannon. Barnebus._

_B._


	8. VIII.

“Ow, shit!” 

The last time Rey was in this room, she was being pushed out. A hand upon her lower back, a maid guiding her from the room and down the hall to her new apartments. She remembers the mahogany furniture, the florals painted on the walls, the brightness of the sun spilling through the windows and the sea breeze through the balcony door.

She doesn’t recall it being so full, and certainly doesn’t recall the chest that Poe just walked directly into upon opening the door.

“I don’t remember it being so…” Rey starts, looking around the room. 

“Full of junk?” Poe asks, his voice strangled with pain as he steps around the chest and into the room. The curtains have been drawn, the sunlight capturing the dust motes floating in the air. The entire room is covered with a thick layer of it.

“Yes,” Rey mutters, following him as he steps further into the room.

“Was this here before?” Poe asks, pointing down at the chest he’d bumped into. The way he’s rubbing his hip doesn’t go unnoticed, and Rey offers an apologetic smile before she looks down at the chest of drawers.

It’s a beautiful mahogany, or it will be when the dust is wiped off of it. The gold leaf and mother of pearl inlays match the rest of the room’s furniture. It must belong here, right? She can’t remember, it’s been so long, and she didn’t exactly commit the room to memory.

“I think it was?”

Poe looks down at the layer of dust on the top of the drawers, before he’s reaching forward and scrawling ‘stay’ in the dust. “That’ll work.”

Rey smirks ever so slightly, stepping forward into the room and waving her way through the maze of furniture and random bits and bobs. There are some things she thinks she recognizes, some things she remembers in her mind’s eye, but if she’s honest, everything in this palace looks the same to her, now.

There are three main rooms. The first, the furthest from the door of the emperor’s room, is the receiving room. It’s the least personal of all of the rooms, with a fireplace and several chairs and couches. It’s where she would receive guests, if any were to come specifically for her. In all her four years, no one came to see her. The room was never used the way it was intended.

The second room, accessible through a double door in the receiving room, is her parlor. She remembers this room, remembers being confused as to why she needed two sitting rooms. It was explained to her that this was a more personal room, where she could eat dinner with the emperor, where she could read, where she could pursue hobbies. Hobbies. She didn’t know the word when she came to the palace. Do something for fun, for leisure? It was unheard of on Jakku.

The parlor, the room she and Poe are currently standing in, has plenty of windows and a set of double doors opening to the balcony. Rey narrowly avoids tripping on a dusty sheet, reaching for the gilded handles of the balcony doors and yanking them open. Bright sun and the soft sea breeze greets her, warming her cheeks and tickling her skin, and she can’t resist grinning as she steps out onto the balcony. The balcony was the one thing she remembered from her time in this room. 

The palace was build to overlook both the city, and the sea. There are cliffs along the north and west sides of the palace, the south and east walls facing the city. The emperor’s and empress’s rooms take up the west fourth floor, with the emperor’s taking up a bit of the south, as well, so that he may overlook both his land and his sea. Rey knows the emperor’s balcony wraps around the side of the palace, a grand thing of marble and beautiful archways. Snoke never let her step foot on it, despite her desire to see both land and sea in one glance.

Then again, he never truly listened to what she desired. He only gave her what he wanted her to desire.

“Now this is a view.”

“Isn’t it?” Rey breathes, looking out across the sea. To the right, there is the port. The cliffs are not so high there, and once upon a time workers carved into them, leveling them and using the rock for building material. The result is a slightly tilted but beautiful port, the winding road curving and turning all the way up to the main city. She can see a handful of ships in the port, their sails billowing in the wind.

“You can see the sunset from here,” Poe mutters, leaning against the marble railing as Rey braces her hand against one of the carved marble pillars.

“You can see the sunset from many places in the palace,” Rey insists. There are balconies on the lower levels, a grand and beautiful porch on the lowest with intricately patterned floors and brilliant views, open during galas and balls and other festivities. “There are balconies on other levels."

“True, but they require dressing, and shoes,” Poe replies, leaning forward and peering around the pillar at her. He gives her a grin. “This is your own private balcony, Your Imperial Majesty. Can you imagine standing here, bare as a babe, feeling the sea breeze against your skin and in your hair? Looking down at the port, wondering if anyone can see, if anyone is reaching for their spyglass—”

“You are obscene,” Rey says, but there’s laughter in her voice as she pulls away from the beautiful view of the sparkling grey-blue-green sea. “Come. There’s much to be done.”

The bedroom is not as bad as the parlor. At least things are in somewhat of an order. There are still wardrobes, still chests of drawers, empty when she arrived there and empty when she left. What little clothing she brought from Jakku was tossed out immediately, her belongings from her home limited to just a few items.

She still has her mother’s bracelet, a thing of hammered scrap metal, the edges filed smooth and a pattern poked into the thin metal. There were no gems on Jakku, but she remembers thinking the sight of her mother’s golden skin through the holes in the metal was more beautiful than any gem. She has a glass jar of sand from her kingdom, and the rest are little things. A toy she couldn’t bear to part with, the figure wrapped with rags and faded from the sun. A piece of wood she carved when she was younger, the symbols on it ones of prosperity, of fortune and luck. It never brought her much luck, but it brought her comfort, at least. There’s a dip in it where her thumb rubbed, the wood smooth as stone, now. 

They start cleaning, joined by a few men willing to help move furniture, and Finn, who's a great help in figuring out what should remain and what should be taken out.

“Rey?”

The brunette turns from dusting off one of the wardrobes, seeing Finn holding up a box. It’s a beautiful thing, inlaid with bits of colorful shell. She remembers the piece, remembers it in the hands of some prince from a small island to the south. Stepping forward, she takes the box from Finn, opening it and finding a few shell necklaces in it. 

“Gifts,” she explains softly. “From those who thought that pleasing him would result in their protection. For their kingdom, their people, themselves.”

“And now they’re in a room gathering dust,” Poe says, walking over to join them. 

“Precisely,” Rey mumbles, her fingers brushing over the shells. “Gods, I wish I knew where they all came from…” The visits started to blur through the years. As Snoke acquired more and more land, more and more people, overthrew more and more rulers in favor of taking the kingdom under the name of the empire, more royals came in an attempt to secure their safety. While she was required to attend, to stand by Snoke’s side throughout the visits, her mind often wandered. It was too painful to truly watch when she knew what would happen eventually.

“Do you know where they came from?” Finn asks.

“Unfortunately, not, and I have no doubt the families are long gone,” Rey whispers.

“We could put them in the galleries? Once we return the weapons. They’re beautiful, if a little dusty. A little rub, a little blow—” Poe says, grabbing a mask from some desert clan and blowing the dust off of it. It only results in a cloud of dust motes, and him sneezing. “All right, maybe not a blow.”

Rey smiles, offering the box to Finn. “I like that idea.”

“And so it shall be.” Finn’s smile is warm and bright as he takes the box back, moving to hand it to one of the servants who is helping. 

There are things that don’t belong. Extra chairs, extra tables, things that she doesn’t remember being there, even though she will be the first to admit her memory of this place isn’t exactly the most accurate. Finn joins about an hour into the sorting, helping carry out what isn’t needed. The parlor is the worst, though the bedroom needs a good clean. They remove all of the linens, all of the rugs, stripping the rooms down to wood and stone as best as they can.

The sea breeze helps move the musty air, the old memories away as Rey helps push a chest of drawers into place, laughing as Poe insists upon her watching her fingers. Her butter-yellow gown is covered in dust, sweat staining some places darker, but she cares not. Not when it already feels so much better, so much newer.

She’s still skeptical of new, still skeptical of how good new can be, how much of the promised _new _can truly be fulfilled when the promises seem so outlandishly wonderful. But this… this new she likes. This new she likes a lot.

“Rey?”

“Hm?” she asks, looking up and stopping her process of wiping the top of a chest of drawers off with an oiled rag, the wood gleaming once more.

Poe says nothing, letting his position in front of her and Snoke’s wedding portrait speak for itself.

She’s only seen the portrait perhaps twice. She saw it during the unveiling party, a handful of months after the wedding. And she saw it a handful of times in one of the galleries downstairs. It seemed foolish, almost garish surrounded by the dramatized paintings of Snoke’s triumphs. Her golden gown looked too selfish, too beautifully absurd in a room filled with spilled blood, severed heads, and a terrifying amount of conquest and death.

She didn’t realize it had been removed from the gallery. She didn’t exactly step in that room often.

Rey comes to stand by his side, looking up at the portrait and swallowing the bitter, burning bile in the back of her throat as she stares up at herself.

“Well,” Poe says. “You look beautiful, if it’s any consolation.”

“Thank you,” Rey whispers.

Her gown truly was beautiful, she’ll give it that. The artist captured the sparkling gems and glittering gold silk beautifully. But she looks so stiff, so sad. She can distinctly recall giving a sort of smile when they were posing, but the artist didn’t capture it. Her freckles are missing, too. Granted, they’ve been missing for years, now, her skin turning the creamy porcelain that Snoke so admired after staying inside most of her days. But she remembers having them the day of the wedding, remembers her maids trying in vain to cover them with powder and tints…

“We could burn it,” Poe offers, his voice gentle as she continues to stare up at the painting. 

Is it so terrible that she forgot his face? The artist took great pains to get his scars right, his wrinkles, the color of his skin. Snoke was so proud of that scar, of the way he defied death. It was more important to get his face right than hers, Rey thinks. But as she compares the face in the portrait to the one in her mind’s eye, they don’t entirely match up.

Granted, she didn’t see him every day, nor did she study his face for hours to commit it to memory, but… but she should remember him, right? It’s been a little over a week, and yet it feels like an entire year.

“We could tie it to a few horses, let them run through the streets,” Poe continues. “We could send it off of the side of one of the cliffs. We could toss it from the balcony into the courtyard. We could weight it and send it to the bottom of the sea. The possibilities truly are endless, you know.”

The side of Rey’s mouth quirks up just a little at the outlandish options, but she can’t tear her eyes away from her own face, the sadness in her eyes. Did she truly look so sad, so miserable? She’s turned towards Snoke, his hand upon her upper arm, pale fingers almost claw-like as he holds her— 

“I have a blade, if you wish to slash at him.”

Rey turns, seeing that yes, Poe does have a blade. A small dagger with an ornate handle, the blade itself thin and the length of her hand from wrist to middle finger. She stares at it, the metal glinting in the light, before she looks back to the portrait.

“No,” she says simply. “I want it hung in one of the galleries.”

“Why?” Poe asks, frowning.

“Sometimes, the past deserves to be preserved,” she whispers, looking up at her late husband’s face. “I want to remember him.” 

Poe’s quiet, sensing there is more. 

“I want to remember him, his face, his hands, his eyes,” Rey whispers, looking to Poe and Finn, the younger man having returned from helping move a chair out. “I want to remember him, so that I may then remember that he is gone.”

Poe nods, the movement solemn. “We’ll find a place for it,” he promises, gesturing to the portrait. Two men come to lift it, taking hold of the gold, gilded frame.

Rey can feel Finn’s hand upon her lower back, rubbing gently and comfortingly as she watches the portrait go.

✥

“When would one wear this?”

“Hm?” Rey asks, turning to see Rose holding up a pumpkin-colored gown. The rough silk is embroidered with olive green thread, the sleeves and neck lined with beautiful grey fox fur. “Erm… an autumnal banquet?”

“Let me guess, serving squash soup and pumpkin pie?” Rose asks, letting the skirt fall, the shorter woman holding the dress to her body. “It’s—”

“Hideous, I know,” Rey says with a laugh, pressing one of her gowns into the wardrobe. “But maybe Amilyn can use it for the fabric and fur.” 

“If you say so,” Rose mutters, moving to lay the dress on the bed along with a mustard-colored monstrosity, and a bright blue gown that Rey always felt overwhelmed in.

Rey smiles, looking at the gowns in one of the many wardrobes lining one of the walls of the room. Her fingers brush against silk, velvet, brocade, muslin, wool… She’ll definitely need to talk to Amilyn. At the very least, the fabric can be reused, hopefully for gowns like the one from the coronation. Maybe the gems reused, the gold thread taken out and used somehow… 

No doubt Amilyn is already planning on making new gowns, if not already making them, but it would be worth an ask, at the very least. The woman is always seemingly at least four steps ahead of everyone else in terms of a plan. But what doesn’t need to be wasted shouldn’t be.

Rey hears footsteps through the parlor, and turns just as Poe enters, holding a tray with some small sandwiches, some tea, and Rey’s favorite cookies. “I come with food,” he announces, grinning at the two women before he stops, his eyes finding the gowns on the bed. “Wow…”

“Yes, I know,” Rey teases, stepping up to grab one of the cookies from the tray before he can set it down. Her gown is already sweat-stained, brushed with grey dust and small splotches of wood oil. A little powdered sugar won’t ruin it more than it’s already been ruined. 

“Snoke had… expensive taste,” Poe says.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Rose replies, walking over to take the tray from Poe and setting it on a small table. 

“We’re going to see if Amilyn can use the fabric, the trim, the gems for new gowns,” Rey explains. She hums, licking her fingers of powdered sugar.

“A good idea,” Poe says.

“I thought so. Turning the old into new,” Rose says.

Rey turns as a breeze comes in through the two open balcony doors, ruffling her sweat-sticky hair. It doesn’t do a damn thing to the dresses on the bed, the fabrics too heavy, but it plays with the lace on the gown she’s wearing, tickling her skin and making her smile. 

Yes, she’s still skeptical. But… if this is what new is, then she likes it.

She likes it a lot.

✥

“You’re sure you want this as your first decree?” Poe asks, scanning the piece of cream parchment that Ben just handed to him.

“Yes,” Ben says simply.

“It seems very low priority compared to our other promises,” Poe argues, frowning as he leans against the desk. 

“The definition of ‘consummation’ hasn’t changed in decades,” Ben explains. He massages his hand, the muscles aching after writing several drafts of what he promised Rey he would decree. “By removing the concept entirely, we will be ensuring that other unions aside from those between a man and a woman are legitimized.” 

“You should be happy, Poe,” Hux calls from where he’s lounging on one of the couches. “I hear that you prefer the company of those with hairy jaws and flat chests.”

“I prefer my options open,” Poe insists, looking to the redheaded general. “And I have it on good authority that you prefer yours very, _very _open.” 

“Who said-“ Hux starts.

“By decreeing this, we will be fulfilling our promise to legitimize unions between men and men, and women and women,” Ben insists, trying to stop the spat before it truly begins.

“And,” Poe says, setting the parchment down and grabbing a quill, offering it to Ben. “And those who cannot consummate for other reasons. Impotency and infertility.”

“Speaking from experience, Dameron?” Hux calls.

“I don’t know, Hux, why don’t you stroke it and see what happens?”

“You are vile, Dameron. I wouldn’t touch you for all of the gold in Snoke’s coffers.”

“That's a big assumption, Hux. Come on, you haven’t even seen it.”

Ben massages his temples, trying to ignore the bickering of his men as he looks down at the proclamation. The decree. The whatever this is. He’s not entirely sure what to call it. A new law? A new rule? He’d already spoken to the priest about it this morning, the man all too eager for a change towards more love in a hate-filled empire. It will take some convincing on the part of the other priests throughout the empire, but it’s not as though the unions didn’t already exist, weren’t performed in the church. They were just not entirely legitimate from a legal standpoint.

A sudden female laugh startles Ben, the sound slightly muffled but loud and bright. He stares at the door connecting the empress’s rooms to his. Yes, that’s right, he’s heard talking all day. Nothing specific, no. He couldn’t hear words or even syllables. But he could hear laughter, the sound of furniture being moved around, her voice, even though he couldn't hear what she was saying.

She’s closer than ever before, now. And she’s laughing. 

Laughing. Laughing is good.

✥

The night breeze is gentle on Rey's cheeks. It plays with the hair that’s escaped from or is too short for her braid, tickling her ears as she walks down the stone path to the emperor’s beach. The moonlight helps her see, helps her keep her steps even as she descends the great staircase down to the sand. The staircase, to her knowledge, with its intricate and wide railing, has been here longer than Snoke, longer than the emperor before him, even. The emperors have always been drawn to the sea.

There’s another beach, a bigger beach for the public, for the servants of the castle, but this small, private, rocky little nook in the cliffs has always been for the emperor, and the empress.

The first, and last time she came down these stairs, she was accompanied by Snoke, by several of his men, by several of her maids. They made a spectacle out of it, letting the poor little girl who had never seen the sea before splash around, collect a few seashells before taking her from the cool water and never letting her near it again. How funny they thought she was, her arms flailing and legs kicking as she tried to figure out how to swim. No one taught her. They just let her discover it on her own.

Now there is no one with her. No one to laugh, to chuckle as her feet find the sand, and she loses her balance. Yelping, Rey grabs onto the lantern at the end of the railing. Has it truly been so long that she is unfamiliar with the feeling of sand beneath her feet? Her heart aches, her mind recalling her kingdom, her desert homeland, and the sand that surrounded her every day. Is she so unused to it now that she feels terror when it slips beneath her feet?

Looking down, the moonlight just barely illuminates the silver embroidery of her slippers. The sand will ruin them. Not that she cares too terribly, but they are comfortable… 

And she really doesn't want to explain to Amilyn why she needs another pair of shoes. And so she kicks them off, setting them on one of the steps, along with her robe. Leaving them behind, Rey steps out onto the sands in her thin, plain shift. The sand is soft between her toes, the early spring air cool, nearly cold. No doubt the water will be almost frigid.

She can’t wait. Trying to run is a poor decision that ends in her almost face-planting in the sand, but she doesn't care, keeping her pace quick to get to the water she so loves.

She was right. The water is cold, and she inhales sharply as it comes in contact with her feet. She holds her shift up, letting the waves lap at her bare toes. One day, she will swim again. She’s not so confident in her ability to swim alone, no, especially when no one knows she is out here. But she will let the water come to her toes, her ankles, her calves. She lets her shift go, not caring about it getting wet as she looks out at the water.

In the distance, she can see the port, the ships in it. She can see the lights of the taverns, the inns, warm and distant like starlight. She can see where there are lights on some of the ship decks, in the captain’s quarters, men coming back to the ship after a night of drinking, of dancing, of indulging in what can only be found on land.

Rey smiles, tears smarting as she looks out to her sea, her port, her people. One day she will bring Finn, Poe, or Rose down here. Perhaps all three, standing at her side as they look at the life all around them. Snoke never appreciated life, would not have seen the beauty in the lights in the distance, the people going about their nights. He wouldn’t even have noticed the lights, she’d bet.

The salted air dries the salt water on her cheeks as she stares out at the water. Her night shift floats around her, soaked. The moonlight sparkles on the water, the waves scattering the light. How beautiful silver is after having gold shoved down her throat all these years…

Time becomes as fluid as the water between her toes, against her legs. She doesn’t know how long she stands there, staring out at the waves and hearing them crash against the shore, the rocks of the cliffs, the water-worn boulders that are scattered along the beach and in the water. She knows she stands long enough for her legs to feel numb, for her feet to feel sore, for her muscles to ache from standing her ground against the rough surf. She almost trips getting out of the water, loathing to leave it but knowing that sleep will come calling soon.

She holds soaked part of her shift in one hand, keeping the fabric just above her knees, and her robe draped across her arm. Her shoes in the other hand as she climbs the stone stairs.

There is no one to scold her for getting sand and seawater on the marble floors this time. The halls are empty, the stairs seemingly endless as she climbs the grand and winding staircases up to the fourth floor. Her feet ache, her lungs burning and calves stinging as she finally gets to the top. Looking back down, she can see her little trail of sand and water drops, and she can’t help but smile before she’s turning back to go into her new rooms.

The sound of a door opening startles her, and she freezes with her hand on the handle to her rooms. She watches as the door to the emperor’s rooms opens, and Kylo Ren steps out. He looks a wreck, his hair in complete disarray, as well as his tunic, the front laces open and loose to reveal pale skin and a handful of dark moles. She stares at him as he leaves, an empty crystal carafe in his hand. It takes him a moment to notice her, but when he does, he stares as well.

She watches as his gaze moves from her face, down her shift, to her arms, the robe on one. He stares at her hands, at the way she’s holding her shift and her slippers, and then his gaze finds her bare legs, her bare feet, covered in sand and seawater.

And then he’s looking up and meeting her gaze once more. She wonders if he can hear her heartbeat.

Neither of them say anything for a moment. They simply stare at each other, before—

“Goodnight,” he says, before turning and making his way towards one of the smaller stairwells, one Rey knows leads almost directly down to the kitchen.

“Goodnight,” she calls to his broad back, just before he disappears into the shadow of the stairwell.

When she walks into her rooms, she can see the light of his beneath the door connecting their bedrooms. It’s faint, but it’s there. And it’s there even after she washes her legs of the sand and salt. And it’s still there after she’s changed into a clean shift, climbing into the freshly cleaned mattress and linens. It’s still there when she blinks for the last time that night, her eyes slipping closed, the small sliver of golden light the last thing she sees before she slips into sleep.


	9. IX.

It takes time, as it always does when things are lost forever.

It’s been two weeks since Snoke’s death, and still she finds herself looking for his presence in the hallways. For the sight of that gaudy golden robe. For his face in tapestries, in mosaics, in murals. She doesn’t miss it, no. She doesn’t miss it at all. And yet still she looks for it, for him.

When she speaks about it to Rose, the other woman understands, likening it to something she saw in Otomok. An abandoned house, the walls too unstable and the roof nearly gone, had been destroyed after years of taking up space in the mining town. Though she didn’t care much for the ugly structure, to see the land suddenly empty felt as though a part of the town was missing. It took several weeks to become used to the change.

“Something that’s been constant has been disrupted,” Rose explains. “Whether we like it or not, Snoke was a constant.”

Yes. Yes, he was.

Her new husband is proving to be much the opposite. 

She doesn’t Kylo Ren for several days after the coronation, save for that one interaction in the hall that she doesn't truly count as an interaction considering they only spoke one word to each other. The concept of being ignored isn’t exactly unfamiliar to her. The most she saw of Snoke in the week or so after their union was his signature on the notes that came with the gowns, with the pendants, with the diadems. Otherwise, she saw very little of the emperor. His overall presence was everywhere, was constant, yes, but over the course of a month throughout their marriage, she spoke to him face to face perhaps ten times, maybe even less.

The absence of her new husband in her life isn’t strange. But she is curious as to exactly _why_ she hasn’t seen him. 

Rey can hear him. She can hear him, and Hux, and Poe through the door connecting her bedroom to the emperor’s. But except for the brief, incredibly awkward moment after she returned from the beach, she hasn’t seen him in the physical. 

When she asks Poe about Kylo Ren, he gives her this sort of half-smile, half-grimace. “The empire didn’t exactly come with instructions,” he explains, the sea breeze in their hair as they stand on her balcony, watching as a new ship comes in. “He’s wondering if he should have left one of the advisors alive.” 

“They weren’t advisors,” Rey explains. She leans against the railing, looking over at the older man. “They were puppets. They would be even less useful than it is to have no one at all.” 

“I see.” 

Rey looks out to the ship coming in, noticing how the sails billow in the wind but not truly seeing the way they snap, her gaze becoming unfocused. “I’ve seen the light under his door the past few nights. He needs to sleep. To be emperor requires a man of sound mind, which is hard to achieve when sleep-deprived.”

“Believe me, I’ve been trying,” Poe groans, and Rey looks over to see the man resting his head on one of the carved marble pillars. She smiles as he moves to hit his head against it, not so hard to cause a bruise or a headache but enough to get his point across. “I’ve tried replacing his earl grey with chamomile, I’ve tried slipping a little whiskey into it, I’ve tried everything short of knocking him out with my fist. The man is more stubborn than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“More stubborn than Hux?” Rey asks, recalling hearing both his and Hux’s voice in the emperor’s rooms. First softer, then louder. Many times over the past few nights. 

“There are two different kinds of stubborn,” Poe explains. “There’s being a stubborn man, and there’s being a stubborn ass. Hux is very much a stubborn ass.”

Rey laughs, the sound coming much more easily these days. She’d bet all of the trinkets Snoke gave her that it’s because she is surrounded by people who actually care about her, who actually speak to her instead of just lacing her up in her corset and leaving. Granted, there are far fewer people surrounding her on a daily basis. But she’ll take fewer people with more affection any day.

✥

Despite an extended invitation, the emperor does not join her for dinner. According to Hux, he offers his apologies, but there is much to do. Rey regards the tall redheaded man carefully, before she nods in understanding.

“Please ensure he eats,” she insists. “No food and no sleep do not good decisions make.”

“We’re trying,” Hux says shortly, before he turns and leaves. Such a contrast, she thinks, to the warmth of Poe. No wonder she hears their voices late into the night, escalating before another louder, but lower-toned one silences them.

He has control over his men, she’ll give Kylo Ren that.

Rey turns back into her bedroom, her dinner waiting but the idea of eating unappealing at the moment. There are several swatches of fabric across the back of one of the chairs, fabric from some of her favorite gowns. Favorite in the decoration, in the fabric, not so much in style. Amilyn promised to do what she could, and Rey has to admit she’s looking forward to the idea of more styles like the one of the coronation. More soft skirts, less structure, less restriction… Yes, she liked that dress, though she knows it’s not appropriate to wear every day.

The low mutter of voices, the sound of footsteps captures her attention. Hux has returned. She hears the buzz of Kylo Ren’s voice. Neither Poe’s nor Hux’s voice has a sort of vibration to it, something that resonates in her chest, but Kylo Ren’s does. She can’t explain it, but it calms her even though she cannot hear what he is saying. It’s soothing.

If nothing else, she enjoys his voice. And his face is much more pleasing to look at than the face of her late husband. And his shoulders—

Rey shakes her head, trying to ignore the sudden bloom of warmth in her stomach, unfamiliar to her. Instead she moves towards the balcony, looking out at the setting sun. It hasn’t quite reached the sea, not yet igniting the fire into a fiery burst of pinks and oranges and reds and yellows. But it will within a few moments, and she straddles the railing, her arm wrapped tightly around the pillar for stability and safety as she hikes her skirts up and lets her leg dangle over the edge.

Is it unsafe? Yes. Is it unladylike? Most certainly. But she doesn’t give a damn, and there’s no one else around to give one either as she sits with her back to the pillar, legs tightened around the rail to keep her balance.

She’s heard some of the conversations in the halls. The emperor has not made any decrees or proclamations yet, but many of them are already being drafted. It’s a question of logistics, of funds, of propriety, of reason, of many other factors… 

No doubt the new emperor is just now realizing just how difficult some of his promises will be to fulfill.

Rey lets her shoes fall to the floor of the balcony, her bare feet swinging slightly in the evening breeze as she lets herself just be for a handful of moments. 

“—do we have enough funds for it?”

“We don’t even know what we have in the coffers, Mitaka is still finding records. We don't know when they're from, though, or if they're accurate."

“Snoke may have been organized, but those who counted his coin were not.”

Rey has to fight a smile at that. Her late husband wasn’t organized, no, but he was good at pretending he was. He was good at playing the part of many things. An organized man, a kind man, a generous man, a just man… 

“Go check on Mitaka and see how Kaydel is coming with the other records.”

There were three voices. And now there are none. Rey’s turning her gaze back to the sunset when she hears a loud, frustrated, almost angry groan. And then there is the sound of many papers falling to the floor, a thud and then gentle crackling and parchment slipping against hardwood.

And then there is a sigh, long and heavy.

She wishes she could see. She wishes she could climb over the space between their balconies, to see the emperor himself, but the space between the two is as long as she is tall. She was once confident in her climbing and jumping skills, back on Jakku, but between the weight of her dress and how unfamiliar she was with even her beloved sand the other night, she doesn’t want to risk the three-story fall.

Her stomach finally starts to ache as the sun starts to set. She leaves the balcony door open, listening to the wind off the sea. She doesn’t hear any more from the emperor’s rooms.

✥

There is a time in the late evening when she stands, and crosses to one of the many, many chests in her room that hold the jewelry, the trinkets, the pretty little things that Snoke gave her. Kneeling before it, she ignores the cold of the wooden floor, the hardness of it against her legs. Prying the chest open, the trinkets inside clink together and sparkle in the low light. 

Picking up one of the many pendants, a piece of jade set into gold and surrounded by small pearls, Rey rubs her thumb against the smooth stone. She doesn’t remember this one. After the fifteenth, twentieth, fiftieth pretty little shining thing, they all started to blur together until even rubies and sapphires were indistinguishable.

On the back, the former emperor’s insignia, along with his initials, are painstakingly carved into the gold setting.

The trinket was never hers, not entirely. And she was never truly her own, either, as much as she loathes to say it. It’s not a new realization, no, far from. But it still makes her chest ache as she stares down at the beautiful piece. 

_How much for her?_

_One hundred thousand gold, and protection, Your Imperial Majesty. For my family, and my people._

She knows very well that she was bought. Her family sold her off. But it was for the protection and benefit of their people. She cannot blame them for that, as much as the idea of being sold makes her heart ache and her stomach turn. It was Snoke who continued to try and buy her, though. Buy her what, she isn’t sure. He certainly didn’t want her affection, or her body. Perhaps her silence. Her favor. Her worship, for when he became a god. Perhaps he was bribing her long before he was bribing the priests.

There was a motive, certainly. She just doesn’t know which one. Or if there were more than one.

She turns the pendant back over, feeling the pearls, the jade, the gold…

She stares at the necklace before her gaze turns back to the chest, glittering with gems and gold.

There are a few pieces she truly likes. Those she sets aside, the table that once had her dinner now a display for the things she wants to keep. Pieces of bright turquoise, pieces given to her by foreign leaders, pieces with pearls and aquamarines and peridots and emeralds, reminding her of the green land and the sea she so loves. The rubies, the deep sapphires, the ambers and the topazes, those she could care less about, but she keeps one or two of each. No doubt Amilyn will find something for them to go with. 

Anything that has his insignia is tossed into a spare chest. The chokers, the pendants, the brooches, the bracelets. His insignia, an S, his visage… it all goes into the chest until it is brimming with wealth.

And she’d only gone through a fraction of what he gave her. 

The door between the emperor and empress’s bedrooms hasn’t been open in years. The hinges need a decent amount of oil, sticking and creaking as she pushes the door open. She’d heard Poe and Hux return, report, and release themselves from their duties. Now there is only Kylo Ren.

She hadn’t expected him to be in the bedroom, having fully prepared herself to rush past the bed she so loathes, through the room she’s unfortunately familiar with and into the office that, according to Poe, he seems practically chained to. But there he is, by the fire, nursing a cup of very dark, very strong-looking tea, his eyes wide and shocked as she stops with her hand on the handle of the door. She meets his eyes, staring at him in surprise.

He holds her gaze for a few heartbeats before it falls to her hand, to the way she’s bracing the chest against her hip. It’s not a small thing, a square box, each side the length of her forearm. It’s heavy, too, but she doesn’t care. She’s sure she makes an odd sight, though. 

“Here,” Rey says, the brilliance of her idea quickening her heartbeat and teasing a smile at the corner of her lips. She moves the tea pot on the table next to him, setting the chest down instead with a hefty thud. She opens it, and is rewarded with his reaction, his eyes growing ever wider as he stares at the collection in front of him.

“What—” he starts, his plush lips opening in surprise as he shifts his gaze from the gold to her.

“I want all of it sold,” Rey insists, suddenly very keenly aware that they’re both in their nightclothes, her hair becoming loose of its braid and her shift and robe in disarray from her eagerness. “I want every piece taken apart. I want the gems sold, or reused. I want the gold melted down into coins. I want all of it to go to our people. He gave me all of this. I don’t want to see it again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very,” Kylo Ren says, reaching for a strand of amber beads, a pendant hanging from it of topaz and onyx. “I… it will be used. This is very generous. Thank you.”

“There is more,” Rey says. “I kept what I was attached to. The rest I want taken apart, melted, sold or reused.”

“It will be done.” It’s spoken like a promise. And though she has been promised many things during her time as empress, this is a new promise. And, so far, she has no reason to think he will break it.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Kylo Ren replies, looking up at her once more. And there is something in his eyes, in the way his lips are parted, in the way he almost looks desperate and grateful and exhausted all at once— 

Rey reaches, taking the teapot from the table and lifting the lid. That same deep, dark brown color is inside, smelling of earl grey and something else even deeper, almost bitter. Another tea, perhaps.

“No more tea,” she says simply, cradling the pot to her chest, its warmth comforting against her breasts as and making the triumphant feeling in her chest bloom even brighter.

With the weight of what she just did now finally hitting her, Rey turns, still holding the pot as she returns to her room. The door still creaks, still sticks a little as she pulls the door shut. But as she looks down at the tea pot, at the small collection of jewelry on the table, at the large empty chest… 

There is no guilt. There is no regret. She wouldn’t call the feeling relief, no. Not that freeing. Not that euphoric. But there is satisfaction. Snoke would loathe that his pretty gifts went to helping the poorest of the poor.

And that makes her grin so brightly her cheeks ache.

✥

Four nights later, and the light still remains under the door. 

It’s not bothering her sleep. There are curtains around her bed, thick and velvet, to keep the light out. She’s used them when she was ill, when she needed sleep and preferred not to be woken by the sun in her eyes. If the light truly kept her from sleeping, she could pull the curtains shut.

No, the light itself isn’t bothering her. It’s the fact that he’s still awake when the clock has chimed three times that bothers her.

Then again, she’s awake. But she’s not the emperor who has to make important decisions that affect people’s lives.

Putting a ribbon between the pages of the book she’s reading, Rey stands. The spring night is cool, that chill coming into her room despite the closed balcony doors and windows, and she reaches for her robe. She doesn’t bother with shoes, though, instead walking barefoot to the door separating their apartments.

It creaks once more, dreadfully loud in the silence of the early, early morning. He’s not in the bedroom, though the fire is crackling, the source of the light. Rey makes her way through the room, avoiding looking at the bed or the armchair Snoke favored. Instead, she makes her way through the bedroom door into the brightly lit sitting room.

The room is a complete and utter disaster. She wasn’t in here often as Snoke’s wife, was most often in his receiving room when they had foreign guests to entertain. But she doesn’t recall it being covered in papers, or tea pots and cups and saucers, or crumpled up pieces of parchment covered in ink stains. And she’s sure that Snoke would have thrown a fit if he saw the ink stain on one of the rugs.

But Snoke is not here. Kylo Ren is. And Kylo Ren is currently staring at some papers on the desk, his head in his hand and nose nearly to the paper. He hasn’t shaved in days, that much is very apparent. His hair is in complete disarray, sticking up in odd angles, no doubt in need of a wash. The neck of his tunic is at a strange angle, and she can only imagine the amount of times he’s rubbed at his neck, sore from craning over the papers of her late husband.

She purposefully steps loudly so that he will look up at her, his eyes wide and the circles under them darker than she’s ever seen on a person. He frowns, staring at her in confusion as she walks towards him. “What are you doing awake?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Rey explains, approaching the desk and resting her hand upon a somewhat free space, looking down at the papers he’s reading. She stares at them for a moment more, before she’s reaching for them, turning them right side up, and putting them back in front of him. “That may help.”

“Thank you.” There’s a gruffness to his voice as he runs his hand down his pale face. She watches him as he sighs, rubbing his eyes, no doubt dry and tired.

“What is so troubling?” she asks. She’s genuinely curious, moving some papers towards the center of the desk so that she may sit on the edge. “What do you not understand?” 

“Everything,” the man explains. “You would think it would be simple to find even a map of the entire empire, but it’s unclear as to what belongs to it and what doesn’t. It’s unclear how much is in the coffers, how provinces we have control over, how many people are in those provinces, what they need, how soon they need it, what the climates are…”

“I thought you were writing decrees and proclamations,” Rey replies.

“Yes, but the word must be spread. And so we need to know where to spread it.”

Rey hums, looking down at the papers scattered across the desk. She can see maps, can see records, can see accounts… It’s a mess, well and truly, of both useful and useless information. And as someone from beyond the palace walls, who never had any sort of contact with the former emperor or his advisors, she can see how it would be difficult to discern what is of use and what isn’t.

He is exhausted beyond reason, and beyond what is healthy, that is very much clear. Even for someone of sound mind, it would be difficult. But when said mind is underfed, and deprived of sleep… she can only imagine the mess in his head. There is a decent chance that it’s even more of a mess than the office, and that’s a significant statement.

She knows he could very well snap at her, could turn her away. But his generosity, his understanding regarding the consummation, his efforts to ensure their union and the coronation was a pleasant one... She feels more comfortable with him than she ever was with Snoke, at the very least. Comfortable enough to speak bluntly, if it means progress.

“I order you to sleep.”

Kylo Ren looks up at her, frowning. “What?”

Rey shifts off of the desk, standing in front of her new husband. “I made a vow,” she explains. “To stand in your place and rule should you be found unfit to assume the throne, whether in mind or in body. And currently neither your mind nor your body are of use to anyone, much less the people you have made all of these promises to. And so right now, I am taking over your position as ruler of the empire, and ruling in your stead. Your empress orders you to sleep.”

“The sooner I discover exactly where we have control, and exactly where the decrees need to be made, the sooner we can—” he starts, his dark brows furrowing as he gestures to the papers spread across the desk.

“Because you were going to discover so much with an upside-down map,” Rey insists, one hand coming to her hip and the other resting on the desk so that she may lean forward, staring her husband down. “Here is what is going to happen. You are going to stand from that chair, and you are going to walk into the bedroom. And after you wash your hair, and shave your face, you are going to lie down and go to sleep. And you will sleep for as long as your body demands it. What you fail to realize is that your eyes are so tired that they are not seeing the information in front of you. You are failing to realize that your mind is lacking the energy to absorb information, let alone put it to use. If you want to help your people and be a better emperor than Snoke, then you need to sleep, so that you can make better decisions than he did.”

She’s not sure what part of it works. She’s not sure what struck the flint, what created the spark. But Kylo Ren stares at her, and she can see his tired mind turning. His expression is almost vacant, but after several moments, he nods. 

It’s a slight nod, slight enough that it can barely be called such, but it is a nod. And she will take what she can get.

He stands, and lumbers like a drunken beast from the office. He doesn’t step. His feet drag along the floor in his exhaustion, and it takes a while before the broad expanse of his back disappears into the bedroom. She waits until she hears the pump of the porcelain bath before she looks down at the mess before her.

And that’s what it truly is. A complete and utter mess. Maps are intermixed with accounts of finances, of poems from Snoke’s rule, of all sorts of random bits and bobs. Grabbing a random piece of parchment, Rey lifts it, skimming it. It’s some account of war, the page from a journal of one of Snoke’s generals, no doubt. There’s a small diagram on the bottom, of the enemy’s line and then their own. She doesn’t remember this. She’s fairly certain it happened before she was even born, judging from the state of the parchment.

“Gods help me,” she mutters, looking up and out towards the sitting room. There are more papers there, covering the couches and chairs and floor and tables. As she looks at the fire, she can see several crumpled pieces, more than likely drafts of the decrees, the flames licking slowly at a few that missed the direct flame.

She stands, walking over to start collecting the parchment. Once it’s all collected, then she can start sorting between what is truly important, what could be of use to the new emperor, and what needs to be archived. She wonders how much of this was actually in the office, and how much of it was fetched from the library by Hux, or Poe, or some other person who had no idea what they were looking for, but thought they were being of help.

Rey skims one of the pieces of parchment, finding letters intermixed with numbers, intermixed with measurements, with ingredients…

A recipe. Bread and herb stuffed quail. Rey frowns, giving it another cursory skim before her eyes find the word ‘union’ in the top paragraph. Ah, yes, she remembers this, remembers wondering why they would stuff a bird with such strange things before cooking it. But why would it be here? 

Turning the page over, she sees a small note on the back. It’s not the small, neat cursive that the recipe had been written in, the ink slightly faded. No, this is fresh ink, and a different handwriting, looping and large but still beautiful. 

_No quails. No stuffed birds._

_Nothing the same, _she had told Poe. And, from what she could see the day of the coronation, Kylo Ren had followed through. And now she is holding even more proof that he had listened, that he had taken her wishes into consideration, even for something so simple as the food…

Rey looks towards the bedroom, no longer hearing the water pump, but instead hearing the sloshing of someone in water. It’s a slight sound, but it’s recognizable. He’d followed her orders.

How strange it is, she thinks, reaching for another few pieces of parchment. To have a husband who listens to her. 

And how sad it is that it’s strange to her.

“I thank you.”

The soft words come after she’s cleaned up the mess that was the sitting room, the papers now being sorted. Rey looks up, her robe abandoned across the back of one of the chairs, her hair tied up to keep it out of her face as she works. Kylo Ren is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his hair damp, his face smooth. The neck of his sleep shirt is damp, sticking to his pale skin as he watches her straighten up from bending over what she has dedicated the ‘maps’ pile.

“It is our empire,” Rey says simply, softly, her voice gentle. “And our people.”

Kylo Ren regards her for another moment, before he says, “I am grateful I spared you.” 

“As am I,” Rey quips with a gentle smile, before she realizes how foolish it sounds. Of course she's grateful he spared her. The words don't need to be said, and yet she speaks them anyways.

For whatever it's worth, the soft laugh he gives, the sound warm if not a little tired-sounding, continues to reverberate in her chest hours after the emperor has gone to bed.

It still echoes in her ears as the sun starts to rise.


	10. X.

She was right to be skeptical.

It’s not bad. No, not at all. To see someone so hopeful, so intent on changing the future for the better is reassuring. It’s wonderful, if she’s honest, to read the pile of rough drafts of decrees and proclamations. She enjoys reading them, enjoys reading his plans for fair wages, for shelters, for orphanages, for new restrictions on merchants to prevent counterfeits and lighter punishment for petty crime and all sorts of wonderful-sounding things.

But that’s just it, isn’t it?

A lot of them are too wonderful, to the point of being almost illogical, and damn near impossible.

It would wipe out their coffers, and the coffers of every single city under their command. It would take years and more hands than are capable. It’s the plan for a utopia, for a paradise, for a perfect empire.

Man is imperfect, though. Therefore, a perfect empire cannot possibly exist. Kylo Ren’s empire cannot exist. And she loathes that she has to tell him such.

He wakes just past noon, just after a cart of sandwiches, tea, cakes, and all sorts of other goodies arrives for them. There are several piles of paper scattered around the room. The better half of the morning was spent organizing them, Rey deciding whether they had to do with Snoke’s coronation, with their union, with war, with his advisors, with anything and everything. She spread the most recent map across one of the tables, the large piece of parchment held down at the corners by four of the dozen or so teacups that she had found around the room, their porcelain insides stained amber from dark tea. Beside it is a list, a list of what cities and provinces are under the empire’s rule. Not wanting to draw on the map itself, she had returned to her room, pulling golden chains from pendants and creating a long line of thin gold that she then used to mark out the borders of the empire. Islands or other provinces not within the main border she marked with small brooches and pins, the gold and gems glittering on the parchment before she’d returned to the pile of decree drafts.

They’re not so much drafts as they are a collection of ideas, and for that she’s grateful. There are only two decrees that have gone beyond the most basic ideation. One is regarding consummation, which goes into detail about the definition of the word and how absolving it would result in the legitimacy of unions between men and men, women and women, those who do not identify as either, and those who have been burdened with physical deformities or complications. Rey smiles slightly at that one, setting it aside. 

The other decree that has significant potential is the fair wages. Of course, there needs to be more research done regarding exactly where wages are fair and unfair, and if wages should vary depending on province or city, but the idea is there, and it is plausible, so she puts it in the same pile.

The rest, inklings of impossible ideas, are stacked in front of her as she indulges in a sandwich, her eyes aching from staring at too many words.

“Gods…” a low, slightly groggy voice says.

Rey looks up, seeing the emperor standing in the doorway to the bedroom. It will take time for the circles to go away beneath his amber eyes, but judging from the rumpled nature of his sleep shirt, the disarray of his hair, and the very obvious fabric crinkle lines alongside one half of his face, he slept. And he slept well.

“Come,” she orders, his gaze moving from the stacks of papers to hers as she stands, taking her plate with her. “Sit. Eat.”

“You…” he starts, trailing off as he approaches, his steps slow as they were last night but now in awe, in surprise. “You did all of this?”

“Yes,” Rey says simply, grabbing another plate and stacking it with cookies, with cakes, with several kinds of sandwiches, with a few hunks of cheese and a few slices of dried meat and a bunch of beautiful, plump, purple grapes. She extends the plate to him, and he reaches up to take it from her. “And we need to talk. But first, you need to eat.”

“Talking would be more beneficial,” Kylo Ren insists, looking down at the map on the table as Rey moves to sit on one of the couches. “There’s much to be done—”

“And it will be done after you eat,” Rey says, her voice firm and leaving no room for argument. For a man of his size, of his stature, he looks very much like a lost child who needs very clear direction regarding what to do and when to do it. No doubt it’s due to him sleeping like the dead, his mind still waking up after such a deep rest, but still. She stares at him, and then looks pointedly to the couch opposite her, repeating the shifting of her gaze a few times before he finally takes the hint and sits across from her.

It’s the most casual meal she’s ever had with one of her husbands. Snoke’s dinners were a lavish affair, with multiple courses and candlelight. They did not have dinner together often, but it did happen occasionally. She never knew when they were to occur until the morning of, and then the day was spend dreading the night.

More than once, she can see Kylo Ren lean forward, can see his eyes tracing the golden chain that is the border of their empire. “This is more than I could have imagined,” he mutters, holding his half-eaten sandwich as he looks down at the map. “So often I heard of new territories, of new kingdoms being brought under the emperor’s rule, but very rarely was it clearly defined as to where.”

“To my knowledge,” Rey explains, her eyes on the map as well. “A good portion of it was acquired in the Twenty Year War. And then Snoke was intent on the southern reaches, the deserts and the jungles. The islands were those who came to him, asking for his protection. And you can imagine what happened then.” 

“Aye,” Ren mutters. Rey can see his eyes moving from one section of the map to another, reading city names, town names, river names, sea names. The names of the kingdoms that once were, before Snoke decided to declare them his.

“I read your decrees. Your ideas for the new age,” Rey says quietly. Kylo Ren looks up to regard her carefully. “They are… ambitious.” 

“They are,” Ren agrees. “They have to be to overcome all of the hurt Snoke caused. All of the death, the debt, the despair—”

“And we will work to repair it, to heal the wounds and support our people,” Rey interrupts, leaning forward in earnest. “But I must inform you that many of your ideas would be impossible to execute.”

“Which ones?”

“If you want me to write up a list, I very well can,” Rey explains. “They are beautiful ideas. And I understand that they were born from hope, from a need for change, from a desire to help our people. But they are so beautiful that they are impossible.” 

“Explain.”

Electing to ignore the hardness in the man’s voice, Rey narrows her eyes. “Very well. I understand that with the current lack of fair wages and Snoke’s absurd taxes, people across the empire had been left in debt and in need. That being said, you cannot abolish taxes entirely. It’s a pretty thought, thinking that we, the emperor and empress, can pay for everything, and I understand how you received the impression that Snoke was infinitely wealthy, but the reality is that our coffers are not full enough to handle all of the projects you wish to complete.”

“What if we took a portion from exports?” Ren asks, leaning forward, his elbow resting on his knee so that he may rest his hand upon his chin.

“We would still need taxes,” Rey explains. She stands, bare feet stepping carefully over piles of papers as she reaches for some of the accounts, the reports of taxes that come in from each province. It’s not the most recent, no, Snoke acquired some more territory in the last year, but it’s something. “There is the idea that those who make none or very little could be exempt. And with fair wages, the overall income of the people who are hurt the most by the taxes will increase, saving them from debt. But the reality is that taxes are needed not only to build those orphanages, those hospitals, those wells, those shelters, but they will be needed to maintain them. Snoke’s coffers are very full, I will readily admit that, but they are not bottomless.”

She offers the accounts to him. He reaches for them, taking the parchment from her and scanning the names of the provinces, the amount of people in them, the taxes collected. “This is recent?”

“It’s from last winter, but it’s the most recent, yes,” Rey explains. She leans over to point to a large number at the bottom of the paper, then an ever so slightly smaller number beneath it, and then a shockingly small number beneath that. “That was the total amount collected. The second number is what went into Snoke’s coffers. The third is what was distributed back into the empire.”

“Gods,” Ren mutters. He groans, reaching up to rub his hand down his face.

“Obviously, the ratio will be different now,” Rey explains, pointing to the second largest number – what Snoke collected for himself. “But there will still need to be some number there come next winter.”

“But all of this,” Ren replies, pointing to the same number. “It could go towards helping our people.”

“I agree, in part. But in the summer and early fall, there are storms that brew in the sea and reach the shores of the islands, as well as our coastlines. Forest fires occur in the summers, to the south. Though I highly doubt anyone would challenge us given our presence and power throughout the continent, there is always the possibility of war. No one expected the start of the Twenty Year War, and yet it happened, and took millions of lives and devastated too many cities and villages to count. Without money in our coffers, there are no weapons, there is no armor, there is no supplies. To demand the amount of money needed to fight from our people is cruel and absurd. We need to be prepared for it ourselves. Which means collecting some and putting it into our coffers. There are other things we pay for throughout the year, including festivities, balls, galas, anything regarding the capital city. We won't keep all of it, but we need to keep some of it," Rey insists, her lungs aching as she finally remembers to breathe after her spiel.

She sighs, sitting down on the arm of the couch next to him and looking down at the numbers, the parchment held so tightly in Kylo Ren’s large hand she can see where it’s crinkling from the pressure. “There are reasons for these things,” she explains gently. “Even though the common citizen may not understand, there are reasons why many of these rules exists, and many of them have existed for centuries. Snoke pushed them to their cruel limit, and often times beyond what was fair. But that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t exist at all. It means that it is our duty to return them to fairness.” 

She stares down at the numbers for so long that, when she finally looks up, she’s surprised to see Kylo Ren staring at her, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “What?” 

“I was under the impression that you didn’t know the ins and outs of the empire,” he says.

Rey stares right back at him, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “I may not have spoken entirely truthfully. Snoke and his advisors often forgot that I have ears, too.” 

It’s ever so slight, the way the corner of his lips quirk up. It’s charming, truly, as he looks back down at the numbers in his hand. She realizes that she can see the subtle colors in his eyes, the darker brown rim and the golden amber inner rim, can see even the smallest mole on his pale skin, can see the way that damned, dark, silky hair of his curls over his big ears— 

Her heart skips once she realizes how close she is to him. Catching herself before her delirious thoughts can wander any further, she stands, walking over to the small pile of reasonable decrees. “The decree regarding consummation is fine as it is, and if you wish to proclaim it right away, you very well could. It will anger some, but delight plenty more,” she explains, walking back to him with her gaze on the papers, easily side-stepping other stacks. “The fair wages requires more research regarding what would be considered fair in which provinces and cities, and whether it should be one number across the empire or whether it should be varied, but it’s also reasonable and very much doable. It will require more time, though.” 

“Where do you suggest we get the information?”

“If they are still there, and have not fled after Snoke’s death, the leaders in the cities and the representatives of the provinces should have records. I can find maps showing the specific locations if you wish to send men. It will take several weeks, if not months, but it will be worth the effort.”

“I see.” Though the evidence of sleep still lingers in his hair and in the patterns on his cheek, she can already see the emperor’s mind turning. “I will speak to Hux and Poe about it.”

A loud knock on the door startles them both.

“Speak of an evil spirit and he may appear,” Rey teases, crossing her arms over her chest as Kylo Ren stands to open the door.

“That entirely depends on which one of them it is,” Ren replies. He carefully avoids stepping on her stacks, looking down at his feet as he moves through the room, both watching his step and seeing exactly how she organized them. By the time he opens the door, Poe has his hands on his hips.

“You’d better have a good reason for making me wait,” the second-in-command demands, stepping past Kylo Ren into the room, his gaze finding the stacks of paper. “… what in the hell?” It takes a moment before he lifts his head and sees Rey. “Ah. Reason accepted.” 

“Poe,” Rey greets, offering him a slight smile as he reaches for a sandwich off of the cart.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Poe greets in return. Rey’s smile turns into a slight smirk as she moves to take the decrees that are useable, walking over to the desk and setting them down. “I take it this…” he says, gesturing to the stacks of paper. “… was your doing?”

“Yes,” Rey replies, turning and leaning against the desk. “And I’ve informed His Imperial Majesty that some of the promises that you have made to your people will need to be rethought.” 

Poe looks to the emperor. “Is this true?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Kylo explains, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. It makes his already messy waves even more unruly. “But… it makes sense. All of it.”

“What needs to be changed?”

“Who else is under your command regarding your plans for the empire?” Rey asks, looking to her husband. 

“Not many. A handful of other leaders of the Resistance, some to be advisors once we find out how to appoint them,” Kylo replies. His lips turn down into a frown as he regards her carefully. “Why do you ask?” 

“Because we need to speak to all of them,” Rey replies. She pushes herself from the desk, striding back towards the two men. “We need to explain the biggest of the issues we will face. But first, I am going to finish my lunch, and get dressed. I will not be addressing your advisors-to-be in my nightclothes.”

“I think it’s a lovely nightgown,” Poe teases. Rey turns and glares at him, resulting in him holding his hands up in apology. Rolling her eyes in good nature, Rey looks back to her husband. 

“At…” she starts, glancing to the grand and gilded clock on the mantlepiece. “2. At 2, we need everyone in the—”

“The other office,” Kylo interjects. He looks around at all the papers. “I cannot work well here. I want everything moved.”

Rey nods. “In the other office then.”

“I’ll go spread the word,” Poe explains, leaving the room with sandwich still in hand.

“I’ll write down our main conflicts,” Rey says. She looks towards her husband. “You will preface it. I will explain them in depth.”

“Yes,” Kylo replies. The man looks surprised, staring at her with wide eyes. It’s to be expected, she supposes, considering the whirlwind of words and plans that just occurred. “I … thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me for doing what is my duty to our people,” Rey promises. She grabs her robe off of the back of one of the chairs, pulling it on before grabbing one last cookie. “I’ll see you at 2.”

With that, she turns, once more avoiding stepping on the stacks of recipes, of poems, of accounts of war and unions. The creak of the door between their bedrooms is becoming more and more familiar, and she moves towards her bed as soon as she’s through into her bedroom, shedding her robe and tossing it onto the linens, undisturbed since she never slept— 

“You spent the night in his rooms?”

Yelping, Rey braces her hand against her heart to keep it from beating out of her chest entirely. Whipping around, she sees Poe standing there, grinning like a conman. “I spent the night in the sitting room, cleaning up the mess he made of it,” she insists, narrowing her eyes at the man. "And don't scare me like that."

“So you spent the night with him.” 

“No, I sent him to bed.”

“You managed to get him to sleep?”

“Yes, why?”

“Nothing,” Poe promises. “It’s just … interesting.”

“What’s interesting is you lingering here when you should be spreading the word regarding the meeting,” Rey replies. She settles into the desk just as the door opens, Finn stepping into the room. The young man stops, looking at Poe curiously. “He was just leaving,” Rey insists, raising a brow at Poe. 

“Indeed I was.” Rey doesn’t miss the wide grin, the wink the man gives her friend, the confused expression on Finn’s face. She smiles slightly, watching Finn watch Poe as the older man leaves, closing the door behind him.

She’s opening her mouth to say something, to speak to Finn about the emperor’s second-in-command, but then she remembers her priorities. And the meeting. And the fact that she will have to explain that the empire they so promised, the empire they swore they would give their people, will never come to fruition. And she sighs, reaching up to massage her temples as she stares down at the blank piece of parchment.

“Can I help?” Finn asks, stepping forward, so earnest, so eager to help as always.

“Some of the promises Kylo Ren made are impossible to follow through on,” Rey explains. She looks up at her friend. “And we’re going to have to inform our people that the utopia they were promised will never come.” 

“They aren’t looking for a utopia,” Finn replies, walking towards her. His hand is warm on her back through the robe, rubbing gently, reassuringly. “They’re simply looking for better. And anything is better than Snoke’s rule.”

Rey hums, leaning into his comforting touch. “… you’ve heard about the consummation decree,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at her dear friend. “What are your thoughts?” 

Ah, there it is. The darkening of his cheeks, the way his gaze shifts somewhere other than hers. “I think it’s a large step towards legitimizing all unions.”

“I agree,” Rey says. It hasn’t been too obvious, no, but she has noticed a change in her friend in the past two weeks. As one of the palace guards, there was a sense of propriety, a sense of duty that he was bound to. Now that he is free from that life, she has noticed his eyes wandering when they walk together. Towards all sorts of beautiful people. She’s seen his eyes drift to Rose, drift to Poe, drift to a handful of other members of the Resistance, as though he is allowed to admire for the first time in his life. Perhaps that’s exactly what it is.

She can only imagine the relief, the joy that will come from the decree, across all corners of the empire.

Yes, they will announce it as soon as possible. The rest, though… 

“Forgive me,” Rey whispers. “I need to write.”

The chaste kiss to the top of her head calms her anxious heart only slightly.

✥

The grand office is truly beautiful. With wide windows that look out over the capital city, the room is filled with warm afternoon sunlight. Though it is not so magnificent as the library in its resources, bookshelves of accounts and records line one of the walls. The monstrous mahogany desk in front of the large windows was too heavy to move into Snoke’s rooms, but the piece itself is stunning in its beauty and craftsmanship. Several decades, perhaps even a century old, it has the flora of the original lands of the empire stretching up the front, intricate and accentuated with gold leaf in places. There is another, larger table with four seats, for when the emperor can’t make it to a formal dinner, or needs to speak with only a handful of advisors. There are chairs and couches for visitors, for foreign dignitaries, for the leaders and representatives of the provinces. The room itself is significantly more beautiful than Snoke’s sitting-room-turned-office, this space designed for working, for collaborating, for ruling as one should rule--with the input and support of others. 

She’s only been in this room perhaps twice in the four years she’s lived here, the beauty of it taking her breath away once more as she steps inside at a quarter to 2, seeing Kylo, Poe, and Hux standing and speaking amongst themselves.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hux is saying, his shoulders back and chin lifted. Poe looks significantly more at ease, his arms crossed and leaning back against a chair. 

“What you can do about what?” Rey asks, stepping up to join the men, her small stack of parchment in her hands. Amilyn hasn’t finished the new gowns yet, and so she wears one of jade green brocade, the off-the-shoulder neckline stitched with gold and emeralds. Despite its detail, it’s one of the simpler ones Snoke ever gave her. Still, she feels stiff, tight and on edge in it. Gods, she can’t wait for the new ones.

“Changing some of the décor,” Poe explains. “And getting this place cleaned up.”

“The room hasn’t been used in years, to my knowledge,” Rey replies, looking between the three men. “The room through the door to the left was used often, that’s where he held his council. I’d say this office hasn’t been used as it should be in twenty years, perhaps even more. It was cleaned annually, to preserve it, and many of the records and accounts are here, but it was never used as an office.”

“I look forward to using it as such,” Kylo Ren says, and when Rey looks to him, she notices his gaze is on the books that line the far wall. 

“Those are the records,” Rey explains. “I know not how many are recent.” 

“Then we will find out,” he says simply. He returns his gaze to her. She finds it suddenly difficult to breathe, though it’s hard to know whether it’s because of the structure of the gown, or whether it’s the way his eyes somehow look like liquid gold in the afternoon light coming in from the wide windows.

“You’re ready to speak?” Hux asks, eyeing the parchment in her hands.

“Ah, yes,” she replies, skimming her notes. They don’t address all of the promises, no, but they address the biggest, most optimistic ones. And just why they wouldn’t work. And just how they can compromise. 

Though she may prefer the style of the new dresses Amilyn is making, she must admit that she appreciates the way the heavy, full skirts of this gown hide the way she’s tapping her foot nervously. Her palms are damp, crinkling the parchment slightly as she continues to read, attempting to commit the words to memory. She knows quite well they won’t stick, but it's something to occupy her mind as they wait.

As members of the Resistance, those who are to be the new emperor’s advisors start to come in, she recognizes a few faces. Rose, Paige, Finn… Others she does not know, but she hopes to. 

There are perhaps ten people in the room when she feels someone beside her, said someone ever so slightly in her space. Turning her head, Rey sees her new husband. He does not look at her, but the purpose of his presence and his stance remains the same. Snoke stood so close to her often, his hand on her lower back as he guided her forward like a toy. With him, it read as possession. But as Kylo Ren stands next to her, she doesn’t feel as though he is staking his claim. Instead, it’s almost protective. It doesn’t slow her heartbeat, or stop her palms from sweating, or calm her nervous foot tap, but she acknowledges it all the same, feeling the warmth of him beside her as she looks out to her people. No, their people. Their people who are relying on them, trusting them to start a new age of prosperity, of hope, of fairness and justice…

She hopes to the Gods that she does not let them down. 

It’s Poe who calls out, who silences the chatter of the fifteen people Kylo Ren has chosen to be his advisors. Rey’s glad to see Finn and Rose, glad that they are going to hold positions of power in this new age. Her husband doesn’t leave her side as he addresses everyone.

“I thank you for joining us,” he says. Rey remembers the way he addressed the people the day of the uprising, the way he spoke in the throne room, and on the balcony. Loud. Triumphant. Powerful. Today, there is still that power, in his presence and in the weight of his voice. But there is a weariness, as well, no doubt that has come from lack of sleep, from frustration, from disappointment and perhaps, like her, a little fear. “We have called you here for a very important reason. As you know, we have made promises to our people, to those who chose to follow us in our journey into a new age. And some of the those promises we will be able to keep. It has, however, come to my attention, that some of them are too ambitious, and our ability to uphold them is doubtful.”

“There are many reasons for this,” Rey interjects, feeling the shift of their eyes as they look to her. Feeling as though she’s suddenly been pinned like a bug to a board, she tries her best to address all of them, her gaze moving from one advisor to the next. “The first being funds, and the second being logic. Snoke pushed many of the empire’s laws to their extreme, which resulted in cruel injustice and the misery of the common citizen. As unjust as these laws might seem now, there is a reason many of them are in place. Our duty is to refine and return them to their original purpose—to help our people.”

There are murmurs as she starts to read off of her parchment. She just raises her voice a little louder as she explains that taxes are necessary, though they can be reduced and altered in ways. She explains that they are actually not infinitely wealthy, despite the impression that Snoke gave, and that they will need to find income through taxes, through exports, through trade. There are other things, simpler things, logical things. Timing is one. Buildings take time to plan, to build. Wells take time to dig. Libraries take time to gather books for. Change will not happen overnight, and they will require the assistance of everyone in the room. 

She is unused to being listened to. To having to raise her voice to speak to so many people. By the last piece of parchment and the few reasons written upon it, her throat aches, her voice a little softer than it was at the beginning in an attempt to preserve it. She’ll need to ask for tea to soothe it, more than likely something calming as she feels like her heart is about to beat out of her chest. Lowering the pieces of parchment, she looks out towards those gathered, pressing her hands against the thick brocade of her gown to keep them from shaking too terribly.

“Where do we start?”

The voice comes from a woman in the back of the room, her hair braided and pinned up, her arms crossed over her chest as she looks at the emperor and empress.

“With gathering information,” Rey explains. “For fair wages, and taxes. We need volunteers to go to the cities and find records of income, of wages. We have the taxes here, but we need more information on what the wages are currently. From there, we can discern whether we should establish a single number across the empire, or whether we should stagger it according to province or city. It may take weeks, even months. But this will change people’s lives for the better. It will be worth it to do it right.”

“And the consummation decree?” someone calls.

“It will be announced tomorrow morning,” Kylo Ren says. “Those who go to other cities will be given the task of proclamation.”

“And of the new structures? The shelters? Orphanages? Libraries?"

“We will collaborate with the dignitaries and leaders of the cities and provinces, if they have not fled, and once we have secured funds, we will move forward with planning,” Rey offers, looking to their audience as a whole, unsure as to who spoke.

“It’s possible that we will need to find new leaders,” Poe says. “Those who go will send word back as to whether we need to look for someone to fill that role.” 

It’s completely and utterly overwhelming to think about what needs to be done. To consider change in general is one thing. To truly consider exactly just how much will be changing, what could have already changed without her knowledge or even Kylo Ren's already makes her head hurt. 

But this is it. This is truly the beginning. 

She wonders if there is a word for being both hopeful, and completely and utterly terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed a few comments about the woman with braids - it's actually Kaydel, not Leia. But Leia will be in this story! Just in later chapters.


	11. XI.

With early spring comes cool rain off of the seas. Rey wakes to the sound of water on her balcony, droplets gentle against the window panes. She can’t see the horizon thanks to the rain, the sea fading into grey in the distance, the port just barely visible between the raindrops and mist.

Rain did not come often in Jakku. Here, in the spring and summer, it comes much, much more frequently, almost once a week, if not more. The smell of it will never not make her smile, and she will never resist the temptation to hold her hand out just to see the fresh water collect in her palm. Despite the grayness, despite the dreariness, it is and always will be beautiful to her.

It’s a perfect day to spend in the office, to discover what exactly is on those shelves.

When she enters the office, the fire is already roaring in the fireplace, and the covered sconces have already been lit. The warmly lit room is a stark contrast to the gray of outside, and it makes it feel all the more cozy. She can see the piles of papers on the table and recognizes them as her piles. Someone must have carried them over from Snoke’s office.

The bookshelves go up and up, requiring a ladder to reach the topmost shelf. The higher she climbs, the dustier it gets, and as she brushes the dust off of one of the leather-bound books, she sneezes.

“To your health.”

Startling slightly, Rey looks to the door, seeing Kylo Ren with another pile of parchment in his arms. He shifts some of the others, making room on the mahogany table to set the new pile down. “Good morning,” Rey calls, before she’s turning her attention back to the book in front of her. The title that had once been painted on the side has worn away, and she sighs, regretting that she’ll have to disturb even more dust. Pulling it from the shelf, she balances on the ladder, bracing the book on her hip and opening it to see what exactly it contains.

“I hope you slept well.”

Blinking in surprise, Rey glances to her new husband once more, watching as he moves a stack of plain parchment to the large desk. “I did, yes. Thank you. And you?”

Why does her chest feel tight? Why are her cheeks flushing? Why is it so difficult to get the words out, as meaningless and frivolous as they are?

“I did as well. Thank you.”

Rey hums, looking back down at the book. Records from several decades ago, it seems, when the empire didn’t have islands or deserts or jungles under its command. She puts it back, moving towards the next book. The title remains, telling her that it’s a book of proclamations from the same year as the book she’d just picked up. It could be useful, certainly, to see what was proclaimed before Snoke became emperor. To see how a fair emperor ruled.

She pulls the book, clutching it to her chest and making a note of exactly where it was before she’s climbing down the ladder. Kylo Ren is leaning over some of the piles, reading the top parchments of a few before he’s looking up to her. “I don’t know where any of this came from.” 

“Some of it may have come from here,” Rey explains, cradling the book to her chest as she looks down at what he’s reading. “Much of it would have come from the library, I think. We’ll ask.” A handful of archivists stayed. Not many, none of them old enough to truly be of use when it comes to experience in ruling or knowing what the older days were like, but at the very least they will know where things should be.

“What do you have?”

“A book of proclamations from 841,” Rey explains, offering the book to him. “If we can find more of these sorts of books, we can see what the empire was like before Snoke became ruler. We can see how the past emperors ruled, and hopefully take inspiration from them regarding how to rule justly and fairly.”

“I see.” Gods, his hands are huge. She knows he makes crystal glasses look like mere juice cups, but to see him hold the book and thumb through the pages is truly something else.

Unsure of what else to say, Rey nods, returning to climb up the ladder once more. They don’t need the taxes, not really, considering what’s happened since then, the value of metals and gems ever changing and borders and populations ebbing and flowing constantly. But the proclamations could definitely be of use.

By the time the rain has lightened up, her fingers and her gown are covered in dust, and they have a significant pile of books to look through. Of course, it will take time, but all good things do, she supposes. She reaches for yet another book, her legs aching from coming up and down off of the ladder for the past several hours. She hasn’t exercised this much since her days in Jakku, when the sand used to cave beneath her feet. She would run for hours until her calves ached and shoulders were pink with the sun, her cheeks covered in so many freckles they looked tan. Distracted by the memory, she stands there on top of the ladder, her eyes seeing the words in the book she has braced against her arm, but not truly reading them.

“I would like a record of the laws in each province.” 

Looking up from her memory, Rey looks down at where Kylo Ren is standing at the desk, looking down at a piece of parchment. She leans against the ladder, watching him as he dips his quill into the inkwell and jots something down on the parchment. “That may be something we need to go to the provinces for,” she explains. “I know many kept their more specific laws after Snoke occupied them. There are laws that span across the entire empire, but I know very little of the specific laws.” She knows of Jakku’s, of course, but even the laws in the capital city she is unfamiliar with. The laws across the empire she’s somewhat aware of, thanks to the council meetings she was required to attend as something pretty to look at. But regarding the isles, or the jungles, or anything other than her homeland… she has no inkling of an idea.

“Where would we get a record of them?” he asks, looking up at her. She notices his hair is once again in disarray, no doubt his hand running nervously through it. It’s charming, if she’s completely and utterly honest with herself, the way the dark waves fall and sometimes reveal his large ears.

“Unfortunately, like the taxes, by going to the leaders or contacting them directly,” she explains. “There may be some records here, but the only laws I heard Snoke and his council speak about were the ones within the capital city, or the overall laws of the empire. Both of those records should be in here somewhere.”

Her new husband sighs, raking a hand through those dark waves. “I have seen men have their hands cut off for stealing bread. I’ve seen women whipped for getting water from the wrong well. I’ve seen children taken away because they didn’t know not to touch the horses of the soldiers,” he explains. “Some punishments far exceed the crime.” 

“I agree,” Rey admits, climbing down the ladder so she doesn’t have to raise her voice as much to speak down to him. She sets the book she was holding on the desk, the pile starting to teeter slightly in its height. She knows the laws he speaks of. In Jakku, the ones regarding water were particularly harsh, and she can recall seeing a man’s tongue cut out for drinking from the pump meant for the royal family. She feels ill at the thought. Yes, laws will be changed. “We will get the records at the same time we get taxes.”

When the door opens, she is expecting lunch, and her stomach growls in anticipation as she listens for the wheels of a cart and perhaps a jovial-looking Poe. Instead, there is no cart, and she sees serious-looking Poe step into the office, which in itself is concerning. She turns, her frown matching his as he walks with urgency and purpose.

“We have a man here,” he explains, stepping up to the emperor and empress. Just behind him, Rey can see Hux coming in as well, the redheaded man looking significantly less concerned. “Who we have reason to believe is one of the elite Snoke favored.”

She can’t say she didn’t expect it. She’s honestly surprised that it’s taken so long for one to come and confront them. But there were dozens across the empire, in the capital city. She remembers the men from the deserts, the wealthier kingdoms near the ports, the kings who relinquished their power in favor of being in Snoke’s preference. She remembers them with their brightly colored silks and flowing pants and tunics. She remembers the men from the North as well, with their rare furs and leathers to keep the cold at bay. There were many others, wearing the wealth of their provinces, men she can recall seeing perhaps thrice a year at the galas and balls Snoke held. While some did reside in the capital city, the majority lived outside of the city walls. And as word starts to spread of Snoke’s demise…

“Did he state his name?” Rey demands, stepping forward towards Poe. “What did he look like?”

“A bumbling fool,” Hux says simply. “Old as the cliffs and shaking like a leaf in the wind. We need not worry about him.”

“Just because we may not be worried about _him _does not mean we shouldn’t worry of the others,” Rey insists. She gathers the skirts of her gown in her fist so that she may walk faster. “Where did you leave him?”

“He’s with a handful of guards in the entrance hall,” Poe calls as she rushes out the door.

Old. Bumbling. Shaking. She was introduced to many men over the years, Snoke’s hand on her lower back as he presented her as his wife. Some were young, but for the most part the men were as old as Snoke, if not older. Just because they themselves cannot fight does not mean they do not have forces they could use.

She reaches the top of the grand staircase, her hand just barely skimming the thick marble railing for balance. She can see the man standing, cowering, surrounded by three men who had been assigned the job of guard. No, it doesn’t look like they have to worry about him. But she can think of a handful of others they should be worried about.

“Empress!” the man gasps as she gets closer. “Thank the Gods you are alive!”

“Eliezer,” Rey greets, stepping up to him. Yes, she recognizes him, always shaking in front of Snoke, always just on the edge of terrified. His grey hair has always been rumpled, always unevenly cut as though hacked at with rusty kitchen scissors. Despite the state of his hair, though, he wears robes with gold thread, with more embroidery than some of her own gowns. There are multiple rings on his fingers, golden chains around his neck, jeweled cuffs on his wrists. Yes, he is most certainly one of Snoke’s elite.

He takes her hands in his, kissing her knuckles and her rings over and over, and Rey resists the urge to gag at the pitiful man as he whimpers and whines. “Where is he?” the man demands, still clutching her hands tightly. “Where is your husband? Tell me it’s not true, tell me it’s all lies, tell me he lives—”

“He lives.”

She can hear the soles of Kylo’s boots on the marble stairs, the heaviness of his steps as he walks down. Within a few heartbeats she can feel him at her side. Eliezer’s hands loosen at the sight of Kylo Ren, and Rey takes advantage of the opportunity to pull her hands from his and fold them in front of her.

“I’m her husband,” Kylo says. “Emperor Kylo Ren. And you are?”

The man was already pale, but any color that remained in his wrinkled face immediately leaves. He starts to shake even more, and Rey has to wonder if they will have yet another death of the elite.

“But—Snoke—” Eliezer tries.

“Dead,” Kylo says, his voice that same low, dark tone she recalls from the first day she saw him. The man standing next to her is not the man she’s been working with for the past two days to find solutions to better the lives of their people. This is the man who killed Snoke. “I ran him through with a sword. His blood is still on the throne, if you wish to see for yourself. I regret to inform you his body was burned over a fortnight ago.”

“You…” Eliezer whimpers, seemingly incapable of forming complete sentences. He stares at Kylo with dark, terrified eyes for another moment before he looks to Rey. “And—and you?!” 

“Emperor Ren is now my husband,” Rey says simply, finding satisfaction in the way the old man is shaking and squirming. He was not the cruelest of all of Snoke’s circle, no, but he was never kind to her, never spoke to her as Rey, only Snoke’s wife.

“You… you are betraying your husband!” Eliezer cries. 

“She hasn’t betrayed me so far, to my knowledge,” Kylo replies.

“Snoke!” the man old man cries, his shrill voice echoing in the hall, bouncing off of marble and plaster. “You are betraying the Gods!”

“I have not been struck down yet,” Rey says simply, holding her chin high as she regards the old man. “They have acknowledged it is time for change. And so have I.”

“Blasphemy! Betrayal! Deceit!” Eliezer starts, shaking his wrinkled fist at her. She just barely registers what he's done until the spit hits her cheek, and she winces. She keeps her chin high, though, meeting the gaze of the man who just moments ago was kissing her knuckles as though she was a goddess herself. Resisting the urge to immediately wipe it from her cheek, she stares him down as he glares at her, a surprising fury emerging from the old man.

“Take him out.” It’s a growl coming from her new husband, angry and almost animalistic. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Kylo make some sort of gesture to accompany his words, and then there are hands on the old man’s arms. What starts as an attempt to guide him out of the palace becomes the guards dragging him, the man shouting curses as he is dragged out. For someone so timid, Rey never thought he would have the vocabulary or the spirit, but she is damned no less than three times as he is pulled out of the entrance hall. The slamming of the palace door is more than satisfying, and it’s only then that Rey reaches up, wiping the spittle from her cheek with a grimace.

“Are you all right?” Kylo Ren demands, his voice gruff as he addresses her. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” she insists as she gives her cheek another pass with the sleeve of her gown. “I can handle a little spit and a few curses.”

“You said we should be worried about others,” Kylo says. There is the sound of fists against the palace doors, but they stop after a moment once it becomes very clear that the doors will not be opening. “How many others?”

“Several dozen,” Rey explains, looking towards the emperor. She resists the urge to run to her rooms and wash her face immediately. “Scattered all over the empire. If I can recall, Eliezer is in this province, but not in the city. As word spreads, no doubt we will have more come. They may have forces with them.”

“And who are these men?”

“Merchants, former kings, former lords,” Rey says, turning towards the stairs. Kylo Ren follows her. “If the kingdom had enough gold, if the men running it bowed low enough and kissed Snoke’s slippers enough times, then they were spared, and inducted into his circle of elite. The same could not be said for the heads of clans, for the small islands, for the poor desert kingdoms…”

She trails off, before she turns. Kylo Ren is two steps behind her, and so she is staring right into his eyes instead of looking up at him. “I don’t suppose this is what you expected when you killed my former husband,” she says. 

“I was not expecting it to be easy,” he replies, stopping as well. “But I must admit I did not expect such difficulties.”

Rey hums. Of course he didn’t. “I’m going to wash my face. And then we will continue our work in the office.”

With that, she leaves him on the staircase, taking the steps two at a time in haste to return to her rooms and wash the dirty, unjust past from her cheek.

✥

There are to be more storms on the horizon. She can see the clouds forming as she looks out over the sea, giving her eyes a rest from words and numbers. She skimmed through books for hours, and when she came down from the ladder, she could see Kylo Ren massaging his hand. At her request, he’d written down all of his ideas, his wants for the empire, not just the ones she had read before. Regardless of how they may come to fruition, Rey wants to see what he had planned to do.

And she wants to see if there is any way they could make them work. 

It’s late, the stars already hung high in the sky. She lingers on the balcony, leaning on the railing before she hears someone knock.

“Come in.” She doesn’t want to leave her position, doesn’t want to stop looking at the way the moon is reflected on the sea, the way the foamy waves crash against the sand.

“It’s a beautiful view.”

Rey hums, hearing Kylo Ren as he approaches. She’s grateful she thought to wear her robe, the night breeze still cool enough to need it. “It is, isn’t it? You have the same from your rooms.”

“I would think so. I haven’t gone out on the balcony yet. I’ve been otherwise occupied.”

“Understandable,” Rey says, watching as he stands next to her. There are pillars separating the railing, rising up and then connecting into arches. She stands at one archway, and he stands to her left at another. Giving her her space, but still by her side. “He never let me step onto his.”

“Do you know why?”

“He said it was for him to look out over his empire,” she explains. “Never mind that I was his empress, and therefore it was my empire, as well.”

Kylo Ren says nothing. For several moments, they are quiet. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore fills the content, albeit slightly awkward silence.

Rey decides to break it. “Have you finished your drafts?”

“Not quite, but I don’t think it would be wise to put my hand through any more tonight,” he replies. He doesn’t look at her, instead focusing his gaze out to the sea. Rey hums again, looking back towards the sea as well.

Occasionally, there will be the bell of a ship, calling its crew to come back from the taverns in the port. Rey smiles slightly, preferring the silver of the stars to the golden lights of the town. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t find them beautiful. 

“I never considered how impossible it would be to fulfill all of the promises I made, but the more I ponder on it, the more I see the sense in what you say.”

“You will have to deal with the consequences eventually, but as long as change is made, and made for the benefit of our people, I see no reason why there would be revolt. Outrage, perhaps, but not revolt,” Rey explains, looking towards her husband. He’s still dressed for the day, his dark tunic and dark trousers and dark boots. The shadows in his gaze and under his eyes still linger, but he looks better, if only slightly. 

“They are beautiful ideas,” she continues, her gaze returning to the silver sea. “But they cannot exist in this empire.”

“You are correct. Men always seek to destroy truly beautiful things.”

His words catch her off-guard. The marble of the railing is cool beneath her hands. She senses there is more to his statement, and so she remains silent, waiting, before—

“I thank the Gods that Snoke did not manage to destroy every beautiful thing in this palace.”

Her breath hitches ever so slightly, before her sense comes to her rescue. “There are plenty of beautiful things here,” she offers quietly. “There is gold, marble, mahogany, ebony, mother of pearl everywhere. You do not have to look hard to find beauty in this palace. And if there is one thing that Snoke was good at, it was preserving beauty.”

She knows damn well that he wasn’t talking about gold or marble or mother of pearl.

Her husband is silent. She doesn’t look at him, hoping beyond hope that if she doesn’t then her heart will stop its incessant, rapid beating. Her hands clench a little on the marble railing, and then—

“Goodnight.” 

It’s nothing like the way Snoke said it. There is no sickening sweetness to it, no bidding her to have pleasant dreams. It’s soft and low, genuine. Not a formality expected of him to say to his wife.

She can hear the soles of his boots, just as loud on the balcony as they were on the staircase earlier in the day. Once she feels confident enough to speak, once she feels as though words may actually fall from her lips, that her tongue may obey her, she says, “Goodnight.”

His footsteps stop for a single heartbeat, and then he is leaving. 

By the time she turns to look into her bedroom, warmly lit and inviting, he has gone, and the door that separates the two rooms is closed. 

There are no slippers to kick off this time, no great gown to bundle up as she straddles the railing and looks out to the sea again. The marble is cool against her bare skin, the chill almost distracting her from her stormy thoughts. He’s good, she will not deny that. Radical, yes, she will not deny that, but so was Snoke. The Gods have given her husbands with strong and stubborn minds, it seems. She knows not whether to thank them, whether such a thing is a gift or a curse.

They are not friends. They are partners, she decides, looking up to the silver stars, tipping her head back against the pillar. She cannot yet call him a friend. After all, they’ve only interacted for a handful of days. But they are certainly partners when it comes to this empire, to their people. And that is the way the emperor and empress should be.

It took four years, the death of her first husband, and the crowning of her new to truly be considered an empress in power, and not merely in title.

Her heart quivers in her chest as she looks out to the golden lights of the port, her people going about their nights. Dancing, drinking, dining, and everything else people do. She stares at the lights until they blur from the terror-induced tears that are filling her eyes, the lights suddenly multiplying into hundreds and her cheeks becoming damp.

She’s not sure whether she should seek for strength within the Gods, or within herself. Regardless, she prays, and prays. For strength, for compassion, for empathy, for understanding.

For the reassurance that she can fulfill her place as empress, preferably without breaking beneath the weight of the crown upon her head, and the fate of her people on her shoulders.


	12. XII.

“Good morning.” 

The day starts off the same as the last. He wakes up with the sun, the beams turning the city - his city - golden. He can see why this is the emperor’s rooms, now. The balcony, the one Rey said she was never allowed on, overlooks the blue-grey-green sea and the beautiful rocky cliffs, as well as the capital city with its red rooftops and golden sun-bleached stone. It takes his breath away, well and truly, and he stands there in awe for a few moments before he turns in to dress himself for the day.

She speaks to him before anyone else does. She’s leaning over the desk, a quill in hand, some black ink smudging her fingers. Her dark hair’s been tied up with a cream ribbon, one slender arm braced against the mahogany desk. There’s a pile of books beside her, ones he doesn’t recall seeing the day before. She’s been looking for past proclamations, looking for records of the emperors before Snoke. It’s strange to think of such a time before Snoke. But, judging by the age of several of the books she’s found, such a time did exist. 

“Good morning,” he calls in return, watching his wife—Gods bless him, she is his wife—as she looks back down the parchment she’s writing on. She wears a different sort of gown today, one of pale blue damask fabric, the pattern itself just slightly paler than the background. It must have been made from one Snoke gave her, for the waist is higher and skirt much less voluminous than her older gowns. The style of the new age. Amilyn.

The lower, more flattering neckline allows him to see creamy skin, sprinkled with a few more freckles than he recalls during the coronation. He shifts his gaze to the parchment she’s writing on, seeing a handful of names, some of the cities, some of the provinces next to them. “Who—” he starts.

“Those who were in Snoke’s circle,” Rey explains. “Not his advisors, but the elite he surrounded himself with. I regret that I cannot remember all of them, but I was shown to many during the galas and balls he held.”

Shown to. Not introduced to. Shown to. There’s a bitter, vile taste in the back of his throat as he looks down at the list of names. There are at least three dozen on the paper. Some have the provinces, the cities they reside in next to them. Others are merely names.

“Thank you,” he mutters, as she starts to write another name, the start of an A forming, ink shining and wet. He points to a small symbol next to the names, a circle with a line through it. The symbol occurs next to many of them. “What does that indicate?”

“Those who are likely to challenge you,” she explains, sounding regretful as she finishes the first name, then starts on the last.

“Wonderful,” Ben sighs forlornly, seeing that the majority of the names have symbols next to them. 

She starts to wave her hand over the parchment, trying to dry the ink more quickly. “Eliezer was one of the older ones,” she explains. “They are all older than you or I, but he was one of the elders.” She lifts the parchment and hands it to him. Her handwriting is small, dainty, if a little messier than Snoke’s or his. There’s a sharpness to it, not so rounded or pretty as some of the other documents he’s read. “They may have forces. These are powerful men.”

“We’re not unused to fighting,” Ben mutters, reading the names. Alistair. Niklaus. Anton. Lionel. Alaric. Leif. Boris. Ferril. He recognizes some of the names from the North. Some of them from the Great Falls, from the Emerald Forest. There are a few men he knows, yes. Ones his mother attempted to negotiate with, to turn to their side. None of them did, too blinded by the shine of promised gold coin. And now look where that led them.

“Thank you for this,” he says, looking up from the paper to find Rey already with her nose in a book, the pages yellow and crumbling slightly. “For all of this.”

She said she did not know the ins and outs of the empire. And this may be true. But she knew more than she let on, and he will be forever grateful for it. For her.

“I was required to attend some council meetings,” she explains, a book of proclamations older than the two of them combined braced on her hip as she addresses him. “I was forbidden to speak, but men often forget that we have ears, and eyes.” 

He knows not what to say to that. He can recall the few times he saw his mother experience such disrespect, such disregard to her as a person, and if he’s entirely honest, it was men who put her in that position. The leader of the Resistance, Leia did not tolerate such behavior for long. She had the wisdom and the experience to put the men who challenged her in their place. But Rey…

She looked so young in that portrait. A young girl, ordered to be silent by an entire room of older, cruel men…

“I apologize,” he says, finally, after a few moments of silence. “I … I hope you know that I value your input, and am grateful for your knowledge regarding the empire.”

She’d been reading, but now she looks up at him, and there is a bit of softness in her eyes. It takes another moment of silence, but her gentle, “Thank you,” is enough for him.

When she turns to look back at the book, he notices a smudge of ink, just by the edge of her jaw, the bottom of her ear. No doubt she had ink on her fingers and went to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He reaches for her, to touch, to wipe the smudge away, but as soon as his hand gets close she jerks away. Wide-eyed, she leans away from him, leaving his hand to hover between them. 

“Forgive me,” Ben says. “You have—”

“I know,” she answers, her words coming quickly. “Thank you. I’m going to wash it off soon.”

He lowers his hand. She turns away from him, looking back down at the book of proclamations. The ink, dark and smoky against her cream skin, still lingers. He says nothing, instead looking back down at the list she’d given him.

Over three dozen. And she said she may remember more.

Gods help him.

✥

“You’re familiar with the palace, its weak points, and its weapons.” 

“I am, yes.”

The man has the make of a dedicated guard. Though shorter than Ben himself, he has thick arms, a good strong chest from training. Finn holds himself with pride, standing firmly with his shoulders back and chin up. He’s seen the man many times, spoke to him a handful. Poe’s spoken to him more, and it was Poe who made the suggestion of promoting him to something more needed than an advisor, especially considering the information they currently have. 

The list of names has only gotten longer since that morning. And while Hux is very good at strategizing, there will always be a need for more leadership regarding the humanity of soldiers, regarding the less technical aspects and the more emotional aspects. Which is why the emperor called the former guard into the office after lunch, the sun high in the sky and warming the room through the large glass windows. 

“Your empress has given me information regarding a possible threat to our empire,” Ben explains, his gaze shifting to where Rey is sitting on one of the couches, a book spread upon her lap. He knows she’s not reading, knows she’s listening instead. She hasn’t turned a page in a while

“The elite,” Finn replies, bringing Ben’s attention back to him. “I’m well aware of the threat, Your Imperial Majesty.”

He is the complete opposite of Hux, the redheaded man standing in the corner of the room, all lanky limbs and pale skin and sharp angles. Though Ben doubts they would enjoy working with each other, they would do well together. Between Hux’s knowledge of strategy and Finn’s knowledge of the palace, those who are willing to fight, and the land of the empire itself, they would match perfectly in terms of skill. The true question is whether they would match in personality, but unfortunately that is something that only time and true experience can determine.

“What would you say to the idea of being a general?” Ben asks Finn, seeing Rey look up from her book, her dark eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Now, Kylo—” Hux starts, stepping forward.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Poe is spread over one of the couches opposite Rey, one of the books of proclamations in his lap. His smile is like a sunbeam as he watches the darker man. Ben doesn’t miss the wink Poe throws Finn’s way when the young man turns around to look at him. “I say the more leaders the better.”

“Agreed,” Ben says. “I can arrange for a ceremony, if you would like that.”

“I hardly think it’s needed—" Hux starts. 

“He’s not replacing you,” Ben clarifies, pinning the redhead with a hard stare. “You are both to be generals. You have a knowledge of war. He has a knowledge of the weapons we have, the layout of the palace, its weak spots. You will work together to fortify the palace, and the city, and protect our people should the need arise.”

Immediately the pinched nature of Hux’s face softens, and his shoulders relax. They don’t relax much, but they relax ever so slightly. “So I see.”

“I don’t need a ceremony,” Finn insists. “We have plenty of witnesses here." 

“Then so be it, General Finn,” Ben says, before he’s looking to Poe. “Is it so simple?”

Poe shrugs. “I do not know.”

“Nor do I,” Rey offers, more than likely knowing that he would ask her next. “I’ve been to only one ceremony promoting a general. I do not remember the words spoken.”

“Then, if anyone asks, you are a general,” Ben promises, looking towards Finn once more. 

The man’s smile is bright, his dark eyes alight with joy as he looks to Rey. The empress has stood, and Ben watches as she takes Finn’s arm, squeezing his bicep and leaning into him. He knows that they are close, knows they were friends long before he ran Snoke through. According to Poe, though, the relationship is very much along the lines of friends, perhaps even siblings in closeness.

“Congratulations.” Poe walks up, offering his hand to the young general. Finn shakes it, and Ben is not blind to the way that Poe continues holding Finn’s hand even after shaking, nor is he blind to the way that the general doesn’t seem to mind all that terribly that his hand is still being held.

“A good choice,” Rey says, letting go of Finn in favor of walking to the desk. She perches herself on the edge of it, and Ben continues watching, hearing Hux and Poe speak to Finn but not entirely catching the words themselves. “He knows this palace better than even I do.”

“I hope we will never need his knowledge of its weak points,” Ben mutters, looking back down at the parchment before him, the names in his wife’s dainty handwriting. “But I will not doubt the chance that we may need it, and soon.”

She says nothing, still perched on the edge of the desk as she watches the three men. Poe’s laughter echoes in the large office, Finn’s close behind even as Ben feels his own heart clench in fear.

✥

They arrive as the sun is starting to set over the sea. Poe is the one who told him, and no doubt the one who told Rey, as well. Three more men from the list. Whether they are allies or enemies is yet to be determined, and may very well be determined within the next hour, depending on how things go.

His empress meets him in the hall. The fact that she has chosen a diadem, chosen a pearl necklace, chosen rings and earrings and bracelets does not escape him, nor does the fact that she has changed out of the baby blue dress into an emerald one with delicate cream lace around the neckline. 

“I am still their empress,” she explains, walking with all the grace and pride of someone truly deserving of the title. “I was when I was shown to them, and I am still. But experience has proven they respect wealth more than they respect me.”

She says it so simply, as though she is telling him that the sky is blue, or that the sea is warm in the summer. Her words make him pause on the staircase next to her. He’s shocked still for a mere heartbeat, unsure of what to say, if he should say anything at all. He decides to keep his lips closed, instead following her down towards the throne room.

It’s a display of power, to walk into the throne room. It was her suggestion. “You are letting them know you are the emperor, now,” she tells him, one delicate hand on the railing of the small spiral staircase. “And you are letting them see his blood on the throne.”

Yes, it does have a very visual impact. And that’s what they need in this empire to truly change things. Visuals.

There are three of them. Three men, two older and one who looks to be Ben's own age. Unlike Eliezer, they do not shake. They do not cower. There are guards nearby, should things go awry, but they do not tremble in the presence of unfamiliar territory. Instead, they stand, shoulder to shoulder in embroidered jackets and jerkins and tunics. Though Ben does not yet remember the entire stretch of the empire, he recognizes the styles of some of the closer provinces. Rich purples and deep rubies, the embroidery mixing geometry and florals, vines forming clean patterns and flowers filling golden checks. 

The elite indeed.

“Gentlemen,” he greets, walking to the throne, feeling Rey beside him as he settles into the red velvet. “I welcome you to the Golden City.” The empress stands beside him, her hand on the top of the throne as it was the day they were crowned, the day they were wed. Symbolic of her support of him, of the empire.

The one on the left speaks first. “So it is true.” He is not yet grey, the dark of his hair laced with silver by his ears and in his trimmed beard. He is dressed in deep blues and greens, the silver of his hair continued in the embroidery of his tunic and robe. Of olive skin and dark eyes, he stares not at Ben, but at Rey. “You betrayed your husband.” 

“I am her husband,” Ben says, before Rey can speak. He keeps his tone short, hard. 

“Forgive him, Your Imperial Majesty.” It’s the middle one’s turn to speak. “We mean no disrespect.”

“His name is Alois,” Rey whispers. “He is a duke of the Pasana province. Snoke let him keep his land so long as he acknowledged it was under the empire.” 

Ben nods as subtly as he can, thanking her. “Is there something you came here for, gentlemen?” 

“For confirmation,” Alois declares, stepping forward from the rest. He is older, his hair completely white, but lush on his head and full on his face, trimmed well. He is dressed in red and gold, a lion’s colors. There is more gold than red, though, and Ben is reminded of Snoke, and his affinity for the precious metal. “That Snoke is dead.”

“Then you may leave here knowing the truth,” Ben replies. “I am the man who killed him. I ran him through with a blade, and had his body burned in the courtyard. His blood still stains this seat. He is gone from this world, and I have taken this place. I am Emperor Ren. To whom am I speaking?”

“I am Duke Alois, Your Imperial Majesty.” The man’s bow is so elaborate, so fanciful, that Ben has the feeling that he is being mocked. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rey’s hand tightening ever so slightly, and he knows he is correct. “To my left is Count Ferril, and to my right is Count Laurent.” 

“I regret that I do not recognize your names,” Ben says. “But I look forward to hearing them come from my lips in the new age. Is there something I can help you with?”

To his right, he sees a shadow shift. He recognizes that build, that body, would know it even in the dark of night. Poe’s lingering, a blade on his hip as he watches the interaction. They decided that an amiable approach would be best for an introduction. There’s no need to go drawing blades, not yet. Not when there is a chance of turning the tables, of turning their coin to the cause. Ben knows of other so-called elite, knows of other men with filled coffers who have helped the Resistance. Perhaps he is too optimistic in hoping that a bridge can be built, that a connection can be made, but there is no reason to ruin the chances of one right from the start.

The stiffness of his wife beside him does not go unnoticed, though.

There is something about Alois’s smile that Ben does not like as he steps forward. “We will get to that, Your Imperial Majesty,” he starts. “But first, may I?” He gestures one ringed hand to Rey.

Ben hears her first footstep, the way the heel of her slipper clicks against the marble floor. She steps from the throne, walking down the few steps towards the count. A picture of sophisticated grace, she offers her hand for him to kiss, and Ben sees that Count Alois takes a moment to admire the jewels on her fingers. “What lovely things,” he says, his voice almost saccharine before he kisses her knuckles.

“Thank you.” There’s a chill to Rey’s voice. “It is wonderful to see you again, Count Alois.”

“I am grateful to see you at all, my dear.” Ben can see the way Rey’s shoulders stiffen at the affectionate term, the way her spine straightens. “I feared the worst when I heard of Emperor Snoke’s death. I feared yours had occurred as well.”

“Emperor Ren saw the advantage to having me at his side, and spared me,” Rey explains. “I am grateful.”

“As am I,” Ben says simply. “She has been a great help through this transition.”

Rey looks over her shoulder at him, and he does not miss the way she smiles at him, sweet and gentle. It’s fake, forced, for show for the man who is still holding her hand. She gently pulls her hand from his grasp, before letting it be kissed by the other elite.

“I am glad to hear it,” Count Ferril, the dark-haired man, says. “You will find no woman more beautiful in the entire empire.”

“I will take your word for it,” Ben replies. Rey quickly turns once the last man, Count Laurent, kisses her knuckles, taking the skirts of her gown in her hand and climbing the steps once more. Instead of standing slightly behind him and resting her hand on the top of the throne, though, she stands directly next to him. “Now what can I do for you? You must have come all the way here for a reason other than confirming Snoke’s death.”

“We have heard rumors,” Count Laurent says. He is the youngest-looking of all the men, just the slightest bit of grey at his temples. He is handsome, with a sharp jaw and dark hair and eyes so blue Ben can see their iciness from several feet away. “About some of your promises to the people of the empire.”

“I have made many. You will have to be more specific.”

“We are concerned about the wellbeing of all of your people, Emperor...?”

“Ren,” Ben insists. Alois makes a strange face. It’s quick, and subtle, but it still happens, and Ben still notices. 

“Some of your promises are simply impossible,” Laurent says, raising his voice ever so slightly. “It disadvantages the wrong people, and it gives to those who are undeserving.”

“They disadvantage you,” Ben replies. “I am well aware of the taxes and changes my promises would require, Count Laurent. And I assure you I am trying to find a solution that will satisfy everyone in the empire.” 

“You are trying to convince a plain goose to lay a golden egg,” Ferril insists. “You are chasing the sun, Emperor Ren. It cannot be done.” 

“I am not one to declare defeat easily.” Ben keeps his voice as firm and as even as he can, staring the three men down. “I can assure you, whatever I alter of Snoke’s proclamations and processes, I will alter for the benefit of all of the people in the empire. And are you not people of the empire?”

“That is not what we are truly concerned about,” Alois warns. “We are concerned as to what your promises will cost the empire.”

“Cost is yet to be discussed. Our priority is deciding what is of utmost important to our people at the present, and from there we will decide where to dedicate our funds. Change is not something that happens overnight, unfortunately. I rest assure you, cost will be considered--"

“To be quite frank, Emperor Ren,” Ferril says, his voice rising ever so slightly as he interrupts Ben. “We have come to persuade you against your promises, for the wellbeing of the empire and its people.”

“You mean for your own wellbeing,” Ben clarifies. “Because you know quite well that, when it comes time to pay for the promises, that you will be taxed. Which is a term you are unfamiliar with, given that Snoke made you exempt due to the fact that he liked the amount of coins in the chests you gave him when he acquired your land, isn’t that right?”

“Are you suggesting we bribed—” 

“That is exactly what he is suggesting,” Rey snaps, taking a step forward, now in front of Ben. “And you know it is the truth.” 

“Empress Rey,” Alois says, his voice calm and gentle as though speaking to a frightened animal. “I must ask you to leave the matters of the empire to those mentally and emotionally capable of ruling it.”

“You _will not _speak to my wife that way,” Ben snarls, shifting forward in the throne as rage starts to boil in his blood. He feels his ears, his cheeks, his chest heat in fury as he recognizes the way Rey stiffens like a statue beside him. 

“I question how you would defend her so readily when she betrayed her last husband the day of his death, if not before,” Ferril challenges.

“Ferril,” Alois says in the same time he used with Rey. “The whore isn’t worth the effort.”

If not for the weight of the throne itself, he’s more than sure it would go careening backwards as he stands and practically lunges for the men before Rey is grabbing onto his arm, squeezing hard enough for the sensation to bring him back to sense. Ben can hear Poe shout something. Whether it is an order or whether it is simply a sound, Ben does not know, but he knows that the guards are stepping forward, harsh hands on the luxurious fabrics of the men as they are yanked backwards and away from the fuming emperor.

“A truly capable emperor would know how to control his temper,” Alois taunts, letting himself be pulled back away from the throne 

“Says the man who just called his empress a whore,” Poe snaps. “A temper he may have but respect you do not.”

“I am not inclined to respect women who betray their husbands, especially when said husband was the most powerful man in history and had given her anything and everything she desired.”

“Bribery does not equal loyalty, despite your own experiences,” Rey says, her voice more even than Ben’s or Poe’s but remaining hard as she addresses the men. She lets go of Ben's arm, her hands coming to her sides. A column of elegance and power, sturdy and supportive beside her husband.

“Some say you did not mourn him,” Laurent accuses.

“Those some would be right.” It’s said so simply, so easily. Her head turns, and Ben looks to her, meeting her gaze. “I have no wish to tolerate these men any longer.”

He doesn’t need to speak. The guards take her word, pulling the three men from the throne room. Before they are fully out of earshot, Alois speaks once more.

“I do hope you know what you have done, Empress Rey.” His voice is calm, smooth. “A pity. I thought you were more than just a beautiful face.”

Rey holds his gaze. “I am." 

In the silence that follows the closing of the throne room doors, Ben swears he can hear his own heartbeat. He looks to Rey the moment she turns to him, her face remaining stony. “My reputation was not worth making them your enemies.”

“I beg to differ,” Ben mutters, looking to Poe, who’s staring at the door with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. “If you run, I’m more than sure they would let you get a hit in, if you wish.”

“I’m tempted,” Poe replies. He doesn’t look away from the door. “But I don’t think them worthy of the bloody knuckles.”

“By the end of the week, that entire list will be against you and I,” Rey warns.

“So be it,” Ben says, looking down at his wife. Despite the stillness of her face, he can see the fear in her eyes. It’s slight, yes, but it’s there. No, he really doesn’t understand the weight of what he’s just done, has he? But there is no regret. 

“Let them come.”


	13. XIII

Her new husband is an idiot.

That’s not to say that she isn’t appreciative of his raging defense of her. In fact, it affected her more than she is willing to admit to anyone, or even herself for that matter. But the truth of it is that she would much prefer to be called a harlot, a whore, a skank, and a hundred other terrible things by a thousand voices than risk war with the men in the throne room.

If there was more trust, Rey thinks, walking into her rooms and pulling her diadem off. If Emperor Ren was more established, if the people knew him, if the people trusted him fully, then it would be less of a concern. For they would have their people’s faith, and their people’s strength on their side. As it is, they have their people’s faith that they will fulfill impossible promises.

And once it becomes clear that those promises won’t be fulfilled…

“Damn it,” Rey hisses, tossing the diadem on the bed, not caring about the gems as she storms towards the balcony. Her frustration can be heard in her footsteps, and the waves crash against the shore with all the anger in her chest, the strength of the worry in her heart.

He truly has no idea what he’s just done.

The salt air is a balm to her anxious soul. It doesn’t relieve her entirely, but it prompts her to breathe deeply, to smell the sea and sun and surf. Closing her eyes, she tries to calm her frustration. To say it is a rage would be too easy, too simple. No, it’s more complicated than that. Frustration, perhaps, when he knew damn well that they were facing potential enemies.

She hears the door open and close, hears footsteps. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“Walked into the empress’s room?”

She huffs, hot air coming from her nose as she turns, seeing Poe there. He still wears the blade, still wears the finer threads he wore for the coronation. He knew how important this meeting was, it seems. Unlike her husband.

“He has no idea the decision he just made,” she hisses.

“The duke called you a whore,” Poe reminds her, stepping towards her. “He defended you.”

“And I am not disregarding that,” Rey insists. “What I’m saying is that my pride and reputation was not worth making those men our enemies. I’ve been called worse things.” Perhaps not to her face, no, but as she has ears in the council room, she has ears in the halls. Some of the women of the court were not quiet about their opinion on Snoke choosing an unknown, scrappy little princess to be his empress.

Poe doesn’t say anything to that, instead standing in the corner of the room as she turns back into it from the balcony. In a fit of annoyance, she starts to pull off the rings, the pendant she wore for show, to impress those who consider wealth and beauty above everything else. It had been going well enough, too. Her hand had been kissed. She had been acknowledged as the empress instead of just the emperor’s wife. It had been going well. And then it didn’t. 

She can’t deny the skittering of her pulse under her skin, the anxiety and adrenaline that still lingers after the interaction. She’s tempted to find her husband, to demand him to keep his pretty plush lips shut and let her handle the negotiations. Because as much as it warmed her, as much as she was pleasantly surprised that he so easily came to her defense, not as his empress but as his wife, he just angered three of the most powerful elite in the province.

Word of Snoke’s death spread like wildfire. The word of her so-called betrayal will spread just as quickly, of that she has no doubt.

“I did betray him,” she acknowledges. The pearls he gave her are cool in her palms, creamy and shining as she looks up towards Poe once more. “A faithful and loyal wife would have either insisted upon having her life taken from her or taking it herself. I did neither and instead wed his killer. I betrayed him. And now those men can start wild rumors, spin stories of how I planned for his death, how I was behind it all.” She would bet every bit of gold in the palace that those stories have already spread once it became known she wed Kylo Ren. And it’s something she considered, yes, but it’s now adding fuel to a very unpredictable and very dangerous fire.

“Do you care whether they believe you betrayed him?” Poe asks. “Do you care whether you are seen as a traitor?”

“To the elite, no. I don’t give a damn. They can all rot in hell,” Rey hisses, grabbing her rings and shoving them into a chest with her other jewels before slamming the lid shut. “I am concerned about our people. We need as many on our side as possible, and between the rumors of my betrayal, and Kylo’s promises falling through, I have no doubt some will turn their backs for the safety of those who are more stable.”

“You have too little faith,” Poe argues.

“I’m not exactly accustomed to faith in humanity,” Rey argues right back, turning to the second in command just as the door between her bedroom and the emperor’s opens, and Kylo Ren steps through. Silence falls between the three, the emperor looking between his wife and his second in command.

Poe starts for the door. “I’ll leave you two to speak,” he says, a little rushed, a little hurried as he slips out the door into the sitting room. He closes it with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, leaving Rey staring at the door before—

“You’re angry." 

“Yes,” she replies simply, looking back to her husband. Unlike her, he did not wear a crown, he did not wear riches. She can’t help but wonder if that would have made a difference, or if his outburst would have resulted in the same mess. She wonders if, with a crown on his head, he would have been seen as powerful, as manly instead of defensive against a traitor to the old empire. 

“Why?” he asks, his voice so low. Damn him. Damn him and those plush lips and those puppy eyes. Still, there is power in his shoulders, in the way he towers above her. It only stokes the flame in her chest. 

“Because you have no idea what you’ve just done,” Rey hisses. She steps towards him, tilting her head up to look at him. “Because while Snoke was the most powerful, those men have enough connections, have enough gold in their coffers to turn our people in their favor.”

“He called you a whore,” Kylo Ren says. There’s an edge to his voice now, his eyes slightly harder as he regards her.

“I appreciate your defending me.” She needs to tell him that, at the very least. “But the truth is I have been called worse, though admittedly not to my face. And my pride was not worth making those men our enemies. You have no inkling of the consequences of your actions."

“The consequences of my defending your honor.” 

“Yes,” she hisses. “I told you, I appreciate your efforts, but—” 

“They think you a whore, a traitor to the empire,” Kylo insists. “Should I have not defended you? Should I have let them think such?”

“They already do! They thought me a traitor the moment they saw me alive!” Her voice raises, now. “What you say about me makes no difference. I did not press a blade between my breasts the moment Snoke’s blood was spilled, therefore I am a traitor to him, and to the empire they once knew. You wasted your words.”

“I disagree,” he hisses.

“You say let them come,” she hisses back. “But you neglect to consider the fact that the men we would rely on to fight for us are to be betrayed by your false promises. You didn’t even think before you spoke. We are about to tell our people that we cannot possibly fulfill all of the fantasies you promised them, and then we are to turn back around and ask them to raise their swords to us? Our army will be pitiful, at best.”

“What do you think I should have done differently? Just stand there and let them call their empress awful things?” His voice is raising, too, now, his dark brows furrowed.

“I am not their empress!” Rey insists, her hand coming to her chest. “I have never been their empress, regardless of the crown upon my head, regardless of the ceremony they attended! For the past four years, I have been Snoke’s wife to them. And now I am your wife. I am not an empress. Not to them.” 

“They are wrong.”

“That may be so. But they have gold. And you know as well as I do how easy it is for a man to turn for a shining flash of a coin. I thank you for defending me. You have done more than any man before you. But my pride is not worth damning our people over. And whether you are aware of it or not, that’s exactly what you have just done.”

For several heartbeats, there is nothing. Her husband is pale as a corpse, and just as silent as one as well. But within moments, he is hardening to stone like a marble statue, his full lips pursed and his eyes stony as he regards her.

“I see." 

That’s all he says. Two little words. That’s all he says to her before he is turning, retreating. She stares at the broad expanse of his back before he’s closing the door between their bedrooms. He closes it with enough force that the mirror on the wall beside it rocks, but does not fall, teetering dangerously until Rey steps forward to grasp it, to hold it still.

She will not apologize for being right, she thinks, looking at the closed door with its carvings and its sweet decoration. No. Perhaps later she will apologize for the harshness of her tone, for the bluntness of her words.

But she will not apologize for being right.

✥

“Do I want to know what you said to him?" 

“Why?” Rey asks, looking up and staring at Rose. “Have you seen him?”

“No,” Rose admits. She stabs a bit of the duck they were brought for dinner, tender with crisped skin. “But Poe and Finn say that he has been causing quite a scene.”

“In what way?”

“It varies,” Rose explains. “Sometimes he is writing so hard he breaks the quill and splatters ink everywhere. Other times he just sits with his head in his hands. Whatever you said to him, it affected him deeply.”

“I’m not surprised,” Rey mumbles, reaching for her wine glass. “I told him the truth. He’s damned us to war on my behalf. Though I appreciate his efforts to defend my pride and my reputation, he chose the worst possible situation in which to defend me.”

“Those men—”

“Some of Snoke’s elite. Some of the highest elite. Duke Alois, Count Ferril, and Count Laurent.”

The lack of clinking of silverware against Rose’s plate tells Rey all she needs to know. She knows if she looked up, she would see Rose shocked still. “I told you,” Rey mutters. “The worst possible situation.” 

“Which one of them spoke poorly?" 

“Alois.”

“I would have guessed Laurent.”

“As would I,” Rey admits. “Alois was always … pleasant to me.” She chooses her words wisely as she stabs a roasted carrot. No, she will not say he was kind. None of them were kind. But they were pleasant, she’ll give them that. They kissed her fingers and her rings and smiled at her as they would a child, and then they spoke to her husband. They were not cruel. But they were not kind, either. They were pleasant.

Until she was no longer Snoke’s wife, but instead his widow.

✥

She doesn’t go to the office as she had the previous morning, and the morning before. While some of the accounts of war may be useful in some contexts, the reality is that they won’t know what they’re dealing with until they know the names of those opposing them.

And they won’t know that until word of her betrayal to Snoke spreads towards the outer reaches of the empire. It doesn’t buy them much time, but it buys them a little. And though she loathes the idea of being called a traitor, she will accept it in this case. If it helps them. If it helps their people.

The day is dim, fog rolling in from the seas and covering her feet as she weaves her way through the gardens. There is the kind of thinking that is useful when there are plans, when there are notes, when there is actual physical evidence in front of her. And then there is the kind of thinking that requires fiddling hands and roaming feet and wandering eyes. Perhaps tomorrow she will seek evidence. But for now, her eyes glaze over roses, pinks and whites and oranges mixing together in her mind.

She avoids looking at the deep blood red petals, her heart clenching in her chest every time she sees the color.

She walks until her feet ache, and then she walks some more. She walks until she has missed lunch, and she almost misses supper, if it wasn’t for Finn coming out to fetch her. “I know that you didn’t have lunch,” he says, offering his arm to her and letting her press close for warmth. The day has gotten cooler as it went on, the mist soaking the bottom of her gown and the silk of her slippers. She shivers, leaning against his shoulder as he guides her inside. Rey thinks she sees the broad shadow of her husband, but it’s only a guard.

Not for the first time that day, Rey wonders if she should seek him out, if she should speak to him. If she should apologize. 

She knows that, should she stand in front of him, no words would come. They would stop behind her tongue like the raging crystalline water behind the stone dams near the Great Falls. No. No, she needs to think more. She needs to think about what needs to be said before she can well and truly say it and mean it.

Dinner is delightful. At least, she thinks it is. She can barely taste the creamy sauce in the pie she’s given, bursting through the golden, flaky pastry with bits of rabbit and vegetables and delicate herbs. The first bite burns her tongue. The rest she eats without truly savoring it, her mind far from the walls of the palace. 

If they make the declaration about the consummation, that will gain them more allies than enemies. And those who do turn into their enemies they would not want allies anyways, she reasons, a bite of the pie held on her fork as she stares into the fire nearby. They don’t have time to do much research, they’ll have to work with what they have here, establish something about fair wages, get more of the workers on their side. Perhaps their people would understand if they say it will take more time, that this is only temporary, that they will find the most logical solution—

“Rey.”

Rose’s voice is soft, her hand softer on the empress’s. Rey blinks, looking to her friend. It’s only then that she realizes that the bite on her fork has long since cooled, and that both Rose and Finn are looking at her with concern. 

“I’m fine,” she promises. “Just… a lot to consider.” 

It’s a gross understatement, if she’s entirely truthful. But it’s the best answer she can give them. And she is grateful for the fact that either they understand what she means, or whether they are just too kind not to bring it up. They say nothing about easing her fears, instead encouraging her to eat. Whatever the case may be, whether they understand the magnitude of the danger they’re in or not, they understand that she needs to think. And so they are quiet, the only sounds in the room the crackling of the fire, and the sound of golden cutlery against golden-painted plates. 

After the sun sets, she seeks the sea. The sound of the surf crashing against the sand makes her almost sob in relief. The closer she gets to the marble stairs, the louder the waves are, and by the time her feet reach the top step, her heartbeat has already found its rhythm with the water. She leaves her robe behind on the railing of the stairs, leaves her slippers on the bottom step, before she’s stepping out to the sand. The cool grains between her toes calms her nervous pulse, the feeling of the cold water against her calves and the way it soaks the bottom of her shift at once unfamiliar but comforting.

Tonight she dares to go farther. Tonight she sinks her toes into the smooth, cool sand beneath the waves, going up to her waist, to her chest, her arms floating on top of the waves as she looks out at the sea. It’s dark, terribly dark, the clouds and the fog rolling in from the horizon. But still there are slivers of moonlight, and the warm lights of the port in the distance as well as the many lights of the palace help her orient herself. 

It's worth knowing she'll be freezing later, to face the possibility of coming across someone in the halls while soaked through. It's worth it to feel weightless, if only for a little bit. To feel as though the pressure of potential war, of her new title, of her new _power_ is just washed away by the sea. She doesn't float, no, she fear she would drift too far. But to stand up to her breasts in the salt water... it is enough. And she damn near laughs with relief at the feeling.

Time ebbs and flows like the waves around her. By the time she emerges, her shift soaked and clinging to her, she is shivering with chill. But despite the ache of walking all day and keeping upright as the waves pushed and pulled her, she has no desire to fall into bed just yet. Not when she knows damn well that she will spend hours staring up at the embroidered canopy, her eyes weaving along the roads and rivers of the empire until she feels ill and her head aches. 

No. No, she will not return to bed. Not quite yet. Even walking around in a soaked shift smelling of salt and sea is preferable to staring at a canopy for hours.

As has been the case for every night she’s lived in the palace, the gardens are just barely lit. Snoke liked to take walks through the rose bushes at night, the rich perfume of the flower one of his favorites. He barely wore it, though, because rose was not luxurious. Amber was luxurious. Frankincense was divine. Why wear rose when it is so common? Why not wear something indulgent? Rich? Rare? 

There are a few torches scattered about the gardens, the flames flickering in the cool spring air. Rey wraps her robe around herself, walking the same path she took that morning. Her feet crunch along the pure white pebbles, the sound as loud as the waves and somehow providing the same soothing effect.

She goes one round along the fountain, the water bubbling forth from the lips of ancient sea creatures, their legends known throughout the empire.

Later, she will be grateful for the way her father taught her to hear the shifting of the sands. Jakku was not the safest kingdom. There were always those who sought to steal the royal water supply. More than once she had men sneak into her rooms, thinking they could steal a jug, a pitcher, thinking they could fill their skeins from the pump in her bath. She learned to recognize the sound of shifting sands outside of her window, learned to recognize the sound of her breathing mixed with someone else’s.

It’s that knowledge that saves her this night. 

Anyone who belonged to the palace would have called out her name, or her title at the very least. The shadow of the man she sees out of the corner of her eye does no such thing. Instead he walks carefully, his footsteps almost but not quite in line with hers so as to cover his presence. He is good. But she is better.

Or so she thought.

There is the crunch of pebbles that does not come from her foot. And then there is a hand upon her mouth, and the point of a blade between her breasts. She tries to bite at his palm, tasting the salt and sweat of dirty skin, and the blade digs slightly deeper.

“Should have done this yourself, you know.”

The man’s voice is deep and taunting. She twists, succeeding in scratching herself with the blade but also succeeding in pulling from his grasp. She’s fast, but he’s quicker, grabbing at her from the front rather than behind. She will have bruises on her upper arms, of that she has no doubt, from the way his fingers are digging into her skin. She hopes the sharp beading on her robe hurts his hands.

The grabbing isn’t a surprise, but the hit to her face is. Though it’s not hard enough to lose a tooth or anything of that sort, but her cheek is pressed to her canine and she can taste the metallic tang of blood. She spits back in his face, hearing him grunt. There’s a shift in the moonlight, and she can see he lifts his hand to wipe the spittle and blood from his cheek. Taking advantage of the distraction, she grabs at his hand, at the blade, trying to get him to release it.

Instead of him releasing the blade, he decides to release her instead. All of the sudden she is left cold, listening to the sound of footsteps rushing away. Gasping, still wet and chilled from the sea and the cool night, she listens to her heartbeat, to the rustling of the bushes. It takes half a breath for her to turn and rush towards the palace. 

A guard sees her, a blonde man with surprise in his eyes as he sees the empress, blood staining what sea water doesn’t. “A man,” she breathes. “There’s a man in the gardens, he tried…” 

She trails off, because it could have been a scare tactic. But from his words, from his insisting that she should have done it herself… she thinks it was much, much more than that. 

Time blurs. She hears shouts, hears orders, hears footsteps. She’s shaking, and though she knows her former ladies would scream at her to pull her robe shut to cover the fact that her shift is soaked through from breasts to bare feet, she needs to show the proof, show the blood, the wound between her breasts, show that she is _hurt, that this truly happened_. Shallow though the wound may be, it is still there, and it stings as she chokes on a sob, the shock and the realization that she was almost _killed_ catching up to her very, very quickly.

“Rey!”

Poe’s voice is the first one she hears, but he is not the first she sees. Her vision swimming with frightened tears, it’s not until she blinks and the tears fall that she sees Kylo Ren standing in front of her, in his own nightclothes, hair mussed from sleep and eyes wide. 

His hand is warm as it cups her cheek. She inhales, the sound stuttering and shaky, as she sees his gaze slip to her mouth. There is a thumb to the corner of her lips, wiping away something, and when he pulls his hand from her skin, she sees the distinct mix of the clear sheen of tears, and the bright red of blood. Startled, she licks her lips. Yes, that’s right, she’d cut the inside of her cheek…

There are fingers gripping her chin, the same fingers that wiped away the blood. No doubt her chin is now smeared with it, but as she stares into her husband’s eyes, she couldn’t care less. Because there is that same hardness in his eyes, that rage she saw when Alois called her a whore. Only this time, she can see the clenching of his jaw, the furrow of his brow much more clearly. 

It is completely and utterly terrifying, and yet her breath comes ever so slightly more easily as he holds her chin with the most delicate, gentle grip.

“Who did this to you?” 

There’s that low, soft voice. There’s a rumble to it, now, and Rey inhales shakily, blinking and feeling more tears slip down her cheeks. She’s both cold and hot at the same time, the soaked and now chilled shift clinging to her legs and hips, the wound on her breast slowing its bleeding. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “He told me I should have done it myself, I—” 

“Done what?” It’s still soft, but she can see the way he’s shaking, can see the way he’s just barely restraining himself.

Swallowing, Rey reaches to touch the blood on her breast. The knife knicked through the thin fabric of her shift, baring her skin. Kylo Ren looks down as she touches her chest, seeing the cut between her cleavage. He stares at it, at the wound, and she can see the thoughts in his mind moving as he realizes exactly what happened. There is no doubt that the wound was caused by a blade. Any deeper, any harder, if she had not fought back the way she had...

She takes a shaky breath, but when she goes to exhale, it comes out as a sob.

_Assassin._

Nothing needs to be said for him to understand. He keeps his hold on her chin as he lifts his gaze to hers. “Poe is to accompany you everywhere you go. If he cannot be found, then find Finn, or Hux. But you will not walk alone. Is that understood?” The order is whispered as though it is of the utmost importance. “We will find him.”

“We should be putting our efforts into gathering an army. We can’t spare any men on this,” Rey tries even though it's shaky, because from the look in her husband’s eyes, she would bet all of her jewels that he will send every man in their empire to find the assassin, and that is the last thing they need. “I will walk with company, that will be enough—”

“A man tried to kill you, and you are saying that it is not worth the effort to find him.” This time the softness is abandoned in favor of a growl, the hand on her chin tightening ever so slightly.

“It isn’t,” Rey tries to protest. “I will walk with guards from now on, I will be fine—”

“You are worth it.” Her husband is so close that she can feel the warmth of his breath on her face, can see the way the darkness of the hall makes his eyes seem almost black. “You are my empress. I need you by my side. He will be found and punished. I will not be argued with. Not when it is in regard to your safety.”

Something in her chest does something strange. Like the string of an instrument snapping, or a book tipping over after its support has been pulled away. Something just on the verge of painful but in a good way, and she gasps with it as she stares at him. His thumb is rubbing her skin, now, still smeared with blood but rubbing soothing circles into her jaw. For half a moment, all she can see, all she can feel is him. She does not feel the tears on her cheeks or taste the blood on her tongue or feel the sting of the wound on her chest. For half a moment, all she knows is him. 

It is far less terrifying than when the same occurred with Snoke. If someone pressed her to define it, she would confess it comforting, almost. Almost.

Nothing more is said. Nothing more needs to be said. Kylo Ren pulls his hand away, turning towards Poe. “I want as many men as we can spare combing through those gardens. The bushes, the trees, the fountains, everything. I want this man found.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.” She can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen Poe so serious. She decides she doesn’t like it. He’s almost as terrifying as his emperor as he shouts orders, stepping forward to join the men.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Finn’s warm voice is the calming balm she needs as he puts his hand on her back and guides her away. As they go, she can hear the emperor speaking to Hux about blades, about torches.

When she looks over her shoulder, Kylo Ren is staring after her. The hands she once only saw gloved are now bare, and she can see the veins even from several steps away as he clenches them into angry fists.

Even in his nightclothes, with sleep-mussed hair and a crease in his cheek where the cover of the pillow folded, her husband radiates power and rage. Not the emperor. No, the man who is currently watching her is not the emperor, not in this moment.

He is her husband.

"I want the man found by sunrise."

It is the last thing she hears before they are out of earshot.


	14. XIV.

“We didn’t find him.” 

She’s not surprised. The man had skill, that much was obvious. He had some sort of experience, at the very least, to know how to walk damn near silently on pebbles. More than likely he kills for a living, more than likely he was hired from one of the orders of assassins she knows Snoke used to dispose of those who opposed him. 

He was smart enough to flee when it became apparent he needed to change his strategy. Of course they weren’t going to find him.

“Thank you for looking,” she says, her voice soft as she looks up at her husband.

He looks as exhausted as she feels. Despite Finn remaining in her room, despite the blade upon his hip and his hand upon said blade the entire night, she still felt uneasy. The wound between her breasts stung, and hurts still if she breathes too deeply. She’d rinsed her mouth out, and though it is no longer bleeding, she can still taste the metallic tang of her blood, and the skin is still tender.

Kylo Ren steps forward, his gaze coming to where her fresh nightshift is covering her wound. “How is it?”

“It wasn’t deep, thankfully,” she confesses. “But it’s often the shallow ones that hurt the most.”

“Aye, you’re right.”

When he gets closer, she can see the small tears and holes in his own nightshirt, sand clinging to the leather of his boots. “Did you--?”

“We searched the beaches, as the gardens back up to the cliffs and the public beach,” he explains. He looks down at himself, and she sees his eyes widen slightly, only just now realizing just how he looks. “There are some alcoves and caves in the rocks along the shore. We thought he may have been hiding in one of those.” 

“You smell of the sea.”

“Something you are familiar with.”

Rey forces an awkward smile, all too aware of the fact that he is trying to joke, trying to soothe her anxious nerves. But it is not just the assassination attempt that has them both on edge. “I wish to apologize.”

“What for?”

“It was unfair of me to accuse you of damning our future.” The words spill from her lips like an eager fountain, the syllables practically bubbling from her mouth as she looks somewhere along his jaw, her gaze sweeping up to his ear because she can’t bring herself to look him in the eyes. Those damned, dark, puppy-like eyes. “You did not know the weight of your words, and I regret the rashness of mine. I ask for your forgiveness.”

“You have it,” Kylo Ren says simply, and far more quickly than she had expected. “I ask for your guidance. It’s becoming quite apparent that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

This time, her smile is more genuine as she meets his gaze. “You should bathe, and rest.” 

“Aye,” he agrees, looking down at his sleep shirt, the fabric stiff with salt and torn in places from climbing along the jagged rocks, or so Rey assumes. There are some green stains, as well, and Rey has to wonder if he went climbing through bushes and crawling on grass to find the man who hurt her. “More men have gone into the city in an attempt to find information.”

“There was an order Snoke used,” Rey offers. “I know not the name, but I would recognize their symbol if it is shown to me. I doubt there is any record of the transactions, but I could look through Snoke’s papers.” 

“Do you know how many orders there are?” 

“Regretfully no,” she confesses. “But I know they exist. And that there are more than one.”

“That’s concerning,” he admits, his voice soft. 

“I’m afraid there are many more concerning discoveries awaiting you, Emperor Ren.” Rey’s smile is gentle, almost sad as she regards her husband.

“I don’t doubt it.”

There is dirt under his nails. He takes her hand in his, and she feels her heart skip in her chest as he brings her hand to his lips. He kisses her knuckles, plush lips soft and warm against her skin. She is very used to such an action, but she is not used to it lasting so long. His lips linger on her knuckles for far longer than what proper formality requires, but she says nothing. She holds her tongue as he pulls away, the gentle smack of his lips leaving her skin reverberating through her being. 

Her husband leaves without another word, retreating to the sanctuary of his own rooms. No doubt he’s to bathe, to scrub away the sand and the soil he searched through on her behalf. Rey stares as the door closes, far more gently than it had the day before.

She’s relieved.

✥

During her time married to Snoke, she learned very little about her husband. She knew he was cruel. She knew he was terrible. However, she also knew he was very, very clever. One has to be, she guesses, to conquer the amount that he did over almost a lifetime.

And what do clever beings, animals and men alike, do?

They hide things. 

She’s not terribly familiar with her husband’s rooms. Aside from the night she spent organizing Snoke’s papers for Kylo Ren, her interactions in the room were brief, reserved for quick visits with dignitaries and the elite. It makes her task slightly more difficult.

“May I ask what you’re doing?" 

Rey hears Hux’s voice, but doesn’t stand from where she’s bent over against the wall. “Looking.”

“All of Snoke’s papers have been transferred into the Emperor’s new office.”

“I highly doubt all of them were transferred,” Rey explains. She looks up and over her shoulder. The general is standing in the doorway, looking as prim and prissy as ever. “For all of his terrible traits, my late husband was a clever son of a bitch.” Perhaps the language is not necessary, but it eases a bit of her frustration with the man regarding his genius in hidey holes. “Not all of his papers would have been accessible. What I’m looking for would have been hidden.”

“In the wall,” Hux replies, dubious. 

“It was an idea,” Rey huffs, straightening and smoothing the mustard silk of her skirt. Once again, Amilyn has outdone herself in turning old into new, the color not one she had previously favored but now one she quite likes in the new age style of gown. “Did you come to me for a reason?”

“He was wondering where you were.”

He means to say _he was wondering if you were safe._

Rey’s shoulders sag slightly as she looks at the general, the tension leaving them as she considers her husband’s concern. “I’m fine. I’m looking for useful information regarding the assassin, that’s all. There are several orders in the city, and I recall Snoke using one. I was not supposed to see the papers, but I did. Each of the orders has a symbol they brand their members with, should one decide to desert the order. Should we find our man, and find his symbol, we find the order, and we inquire as to who hired him.”

“Because the orders are likely to tell you,” Hux deadpans.

“They may not. But it's less than likely that the man knows who hired him. They are given orders, and that is all there is to it.”

“You know plenty about assassin orders. Should I be concerned?” 

“This was not the first attempt made on my life,” she mutters, kneeling along the wall and knocking her knuckles against the carved wooden panels in an attempt to find a hollow. “Contrary to what you may think, people were not pleased with Emperor Snoke choosing a dusty little desert girl as his empress.”

“As people are not pleased that Emperor Ren chose to keep you alive and take you as his wife.”

“You can never please everyone,” Rey mumbles. “Now please be quiet, silence is helpful when trying to find a something hollow.”

He does not leave, perhaps under Kylo Ren’s orders, but he does remain quiet as she continues knocking against the wall. All of the panels sound solid, and Rey huffs, a stray strand of auburn hair moved by her sigh as she sits back. “That was a waste of time.” 

“He could have burned them.” 

“Perhaps.” It’s certainly not the answer she wants to hear, but it may be the right one. Still, there is a possibility… 

Rey turns, looking at the heavy wooden desk. She never saw her late husband sit at it, not really. The grand one in the former office was too heavy to move, she knows that. And so Snoke had one specially made for this office, with just as much decoration as everything else he ever owned or commissioned. Frowning, Rey moves, grasping the gilded handle of the drawer and pulling. It’s empty, as she expected.

“I told you, everything was transferred.” 

“And as I told you, I doubt it was everything,” Rey insists, pulling the drawer out entirely. She looks at the sides carefully, looks underneath, tests the width of the wood that makes up the bottom of the drawer. No false bottom, then. Kneeling, she peers into the darkness of where the drawer was, before she reaches inside. Smooth mahogany greets her, no sort of button or latch or anything of the sort against her fingertips. But no matter. There are plenty more drawers to explore. 

She hears the creak of the door as she pulls her hand from the desk. Pulling the other drawer out, she examines it as well before setting it aside and reaching inside that drawer as well. By the time Poe comes around the corner, her arm is entirely inside the desk, up to her shoulder. The man stares at her, before looking back to Hux. “Do I want to know?”

“I can explain again if I must,” Rey grunts, trying to brush her fingers against the back of the drawer space. While the drawer itself was shallow, the space it slid into was not. There has to be something—

As her fingers brush against the left wall, she brushes something smooth. Something cold. Something metal. Her eyes widen, and she grips it as best as she can, giving it a good tug.

Something in the desk audibly shifts, and she looks up, seeing Poe and Hux staring at the desk. The former stares in confusion, the latter in surprise as she pulls her hand out, grinning like a fool.

“I’m not insane,” Rey insists, standing back up and going around the desk, attempting to see if something popped out or slid somewhere.

“I wasn’t implying that you were,” Hux says stiffly. Rey can just barely hear Poe’s snicker as she comes around the other side of the desk. Nothing on the outside, then…

Getting down on the ornate rug, she lies back under the desk, eyes searching for something, anything out of place. There’s a shadow, a sliver of space, and she reaches up to slip her fingers in the slot. Pushing the panel, it slides away, revealing another panel with a delicate golden hoop. Rey can’t contain her smile as she reaches for it, pulling the hoop down. The panel swings towards her, and reveals a small compartment, a stack of parchment neatly set. She recognizes Snoke’s handwriting, and laughs, pulling the papers out.

“I assume you found something, Your Imperial Majesty.” 

“That I did,” Rey breathes, emerging victorious and showing the men the papers. “That I did.”

✥

The papers had nothing to do with any assassin orders. They were further proof of corruption, letters from some of the elite as they groveled to keep their possessions. It’s pathetic, truly, Rey thinks as she reads through pages and pages of begging. Not for their family, no. For their land, their own lives, and the gold in their coffers. Pathetic, and tragic.

Though she didn’t succeed in finding exactly what she was looking for, the discovery was useful in other ways. Her husband hid papers, had secret compartments in his desk. There may be more than just one, and who knows what else is in his rooms, most of the furniture commissioned when he became emperor. He was clever, yes, but so is she. One had to be when raised on Jakku. 

“I hear you made an interesting discovery.”

“Unfortunately, it wasn’t what I had hoped it would be,” Rey says, sitting by the fire in the great office. She continues skimming, sighing. “But it did confirm some of my suspicions regarding my late husband.” 

“And what were those suspicions?”

“He kept everything, but hid it,” Rey explains, looking up at Kylo Ren and offering him the papers. “I don’t recommend reading them. Some of the authors have since passed on. But the way they groveled for their own lives, abandoning thought of their family… it’s disgusting.”

He still looks tired, but she knows not whether the pallor of his face is from spending all night searching for her assailant, or whether it’s simply becoming a standard feature thanks to the pressure of becoming the emperor. He takes the papers from her, weary eyes scanning as she had. “Gods,” he mutters, reaching up to run a hand down his face.

“I know,” Rey whispers. 

The papers are handed back to her. “I have no desire to read those.” 

“I don’t blame you.” She sets them aside. “You can gather all you truly need to know just from the first few sentences. There’s no useful information in them, just the reassurance that the elite are sniveling, terrible men. And now we know Snoke hid things in his desk. If it’s amenable to you, I would like to see if there are any other hidden places in that desk.” 

“By all means,” he replies, watching as she stacks the papers once more, shoving them away. “Are you available for dinner?” 

Rey stills, looking up at her husband with a confused frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

And there, where there had been paper-white skin, there is a bit of a flush. His cheeks, his ears turn slightly pink. “I … don’t know.” 

“Are you asking me to join you for dinner?”

“I … I am, yes.”

Rey hesitates for a moment. There is that residual fear, small though it may be now. That lingering dread that seemed to swallow her every time one of Snoke’s men told her she was expected for dinner. But Kylo Ren is not Snoke, no, he’s proven that many times over. Still, despite their differences, it takes her half of a moment to get over the memory of sitting at that damned long table, filled with fruits and sweets and roasts, far too much food for two people. She can remember the awkward conversation, or lack thereof, and the way Snoke opened his mouth if he thought she was going to open hers, speaking over her before she could utter a single syllable.

This dinner with Kylo Ren may be awkward, she will not deny that. But at the very least he will not silence her. 

“I’ll look forward to it,” she promises, finding the words more truthful than she expected.

His smile is soft, with closed lips, but it’s still a smile, and she enjoys the warmth of it before he turns and leaves her to her work.

✥

The first thing she notices upon entering the dining room is that there is less food. This is not a feast. This is not a banquet. This is a dinner for two people. Soft, buttered rolls are already in a silver dish, folded delicately in a cream napkin. Whipped butter sits in another silver dish, and wine has already been poured into crystal goblets. When she enters, her husband stands.

Snoke never stood for her.

The second thing she notices is that the position of the chairs. Rather than sitting across from each other at the long table, there is a chair at the head of the table, and then one directly to the right of it. They will sit close to each other. They will be able to speak without shouting. Granted, that did not happen often with Snoke, considering she was rarely allowed to speak at all, but still. She can speak. And Kylo Ren will hear her.

“That dress looks lovely on you.”

Rey looks down at the olive green gown. “Amilyn has done a wonderful job turning the gowns I liked into gowns I love,” she confesses, her gaze lifting to his once more. “I will tell you that I enjoy this style significantly more than the ones Snoke had made for me.”

“I am glad,” he says, stepping to pull her chair out for her. Rey hesitates. She’s familiar with the formality of the movement. Snoke pulled her chair out for her at banquets and balls and dinners and galas, where it was expected of him. But in privacy, it was always a servant who helped her sit. She keeps her gaze low, acutely aware of the warmth rushing to her cheeks as Kylo Ren pushes her chair in for her. Almost immediately, a soup is placed in front of her. Smelling of the rich tomatoes from the farms to the west, and spices from the port, she smiles, reaching for a spoon. 

The soup is steaming, too hot to truly eat, and so she blows delicately on her spoonful. She sees Kylo Ren reach for a roll out of the corner of her eye, and then the dish is offered to her, the buttery and flaky bread steaming as well and smelling absolutely delicious.

“Yes, please, thank you.” 

He sets one on her bread plate. “Careful. It’s quite hot.” 

“As is everything on this table, apparently,” Rey teases, holding up her spoon for emphasis.

She’s rewarded with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, a little awkward, but she’ll take it. She blows on the soup once more before tasting it. It’s rich and creamy, far simpler but also far more delicious than anything she had in Snoke’s company. Everything about this new age is simpler, it seems, at least in theory. Simpler dresses, simpler food…

She greatly appreciates it. 

Humming, she goes back in for another spoonful, lips pursed to blow the gently swirling steam away when— 

“Tell me of your family.”

Rey pauses, unpursing her lips immediately and looking to Kylo Ren. He’s torn his roll, dipping pieces of it in the soup. She knows from experience that that’s completely improper, having received a slap to her hand from one of her former maids when she did it even in the privacy of her own rooms. But this is a new age, is it not?

“I’m afraid you’ll find them a quiet lot,” she confesses. “Snoke had them killed.”

“Unfortunately, I'm aware of that,” he says. “What of them when they were alive?”

She’s only just took up her spoon again, but she stops, the utensil hovering in midair as she turns her gaze towards him in surprise. “What?”

“Is that an odd request?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned. “Forgive me if I offended-“

“No!” It falls from her lips perhaps a bit too quickly, a bit too loudly. She corrects herself. “No, it’s just…” 

What does she say? Does she tell him that Snoke never asked her about her family? Never asked of her interests, never asked of her past? He asked of her likes, but only in such a way that it was almost demeaning. Asking her if she’d ever seen grass so green, or apples so red, or a sea so blue. He asked her if she’d ever seen things so beautiful, silk so smooth and shining, gems so gorgeous and clear. It was mocking, truly, of her inexperience with finer things. He asked her if she liked shining things as one would ask a bird in a cage if it wanted a handful of seeds. 

“He didn’t ask me of my family,” she says. “He merely slaughtered them.” 

“I am not him,” Kylo Ren says simply. It is fact. Her new husband is not her old husband. She knew that, yes, she knows it quite well. 

But it’s always nice to be reassured.

“No,” Rey says. “No, you are not.”

She was the only child. She had aunts and uncles, yes, and cousins. The drought took a lot of them. Famine took a few more. And illness took plenty. But that’s how Jakku was. Life was not a promise. It was a lucky chance. She can recall months when her mother didn’t bleed, when there was a glimmer of hope, before illness or malnutrition took hold and she lost yet another small life. Against all odds, Rey lived.

“My father would have much preferred a son,” she explains over their roasted veal. “But as the empire grew stronger, he realized he could use me as a bartering chip.”

“And so he did,” Kylo Ren replies.

“And so he did.”

That’s not to say she hated her father, no. She understands why he made the decision he did. It was for their people. And it seemed like the only choice they had. 

“We used to roll in the sand together,” she says, her voice soft as she remembers. “There were dunes one could slide down. There wasn’t much green, but there were a few trees. The bark, when it wasn’t used for fire, was turned into small boards we rode down the dunes. We would come in covered in dust, our hair almost grey from it. Mother would yell at him, as water was scarce and we would both need baths. But it was incredibly fun.” 

“It sounds it.” Kylo Ren’s plate is nearly full. The fact that his entire attention is on her doesn’t escape her. “But no water?”

“There were a few wells, and we would save water from the rains,” she explains. “But I had never seen a river, or a lake, or the ocean. It was just sand.”

“Still, I would like to see it someday.” 

“I have no doubt you will.”

It’s easier than she expected it to be, to tell him of her childhood. She speaks of the little lizards she would catch when she was little, the one she kept as a pet for a handful of months before he escaped his little cage. She tells him of the way the sand felt so cool at night, how pleasant it felt between her toes. The sand here is not so soft, not so dusty. She hasn’t tanned in years, her skin now porcelain. But she can recall being golden and freckled, the lines of her garments ever changing and leaving patterns on her skin. 

She stops speaking long enough to enjoy dessert, ripe and plump berries in a sweet, delicate cream sweetened with sugar and liquor. All of Snoke’s desserts were elaborate with piping and gold leaf and spun sugar, but she much prefers this, and, forgetting propriety for a moment, reaches into the cup to scoop out the last little bit of the cream. Slipping her finger between her lips, she licks the treat off, humming before she realizes that her husband is staring at her.

In a panic, she pulls her finger from her lips, the quick movement resulting in a ‘pop’ sound. “Forgive me,” she says hurriedly. “That was improper.”

“You say that as though I give a damn,” he replies, laughter in his voice before he’s passing his own cup over, almost empty save for the littlest bit of cream. “Would you like mine?”

“Yes,” she breathes, taking the cup from him and scooping the last fingerful up. She can hear him chuckle, and her cheeks flush. But she hasn’t had something this delicious in years, most of Snoke’s desserts far, far too rich for her liking. This is light and sweet and fresh – the likes of which she’d never had in Jakku, or even here.

He kisses her fingers once more before they separate, his lips not lingering so long as they had before. But it’s sweet all the same. “Someone will be outside your door tonight, and I ordered another to watch your balcony. I have no desire for a repeat of last night.”

“Neither do I,” she mutters.

“Good to know we are thinking alike.” It’s accompanied by the slightest smirk, and oh, Gods forgive her, that does something to her heart… Something she’s becoming more and more familiar with, even though she’s only felt it a handful of times in her life. “Goodnight, Rey.”

“Goodnight.”

He told her someone would be watching the balcony. When she walks to it and looks out, she can see a figure in the moonlight. There is indeed watching, and watching vigilantly, as he raises a hand to her. She raises one as well in greeting, comforted by the man's presence. Assured, she leaves the door open. There is no sign of rain, the stars bright and plentiful. The sea breeze ruffles the sheer curtains that flank the balcony door. They move as though to unheard music, dancing as she gets ready to sleep. The bandage covering her wounds is changed and the cut cleaned, and she observes the bruises from the scuffle in her mirror before she pulls her shift over her head. They are dark, and will no doubt darken further in the coming days before turning their nasty shades of yellow and green. 

She’s not unused to bruises. She’s had her fair share from Jakku, from her time of true freedom. They don’t bother her in terms of appearance, but she does hiss as she climbs into bed, a few of them aching. 

The fire in his room remains lit. She can hear his footsteps. She can see the golden light underneath the door. He almost sounds as though he is pacing. The sound of his footsteps becomes as regular as a ticking clock, and she knows not whether it is the rhythm, or the sound of the waves that truly lulls her to sleep.

Both are equally comforting.

✥

This time, it is not the sound of footsteps that alerts her. There are no pebbles to crunch beneath sneaking feet. She had pulled the curtains around her bed closed, enjoying the sound of the sea but not the cool, nearly cold breeze coming in from the outside.

Rey opens her eyes to see moonlight, to feeling a cool breeze against her cheek. Neither should affect her with the curtains closed.

It’s by sheer chance that she sees the shine of a blade, the moonlight reflecting off of the metal. Her heart skips in her chest and she gasps, rolling over so quickly that her body hits the floor. She just barely hears the tearing of fabric, the creak of the door between her room and Kylo Ren’s opening. 

What she does hear is her husband’s shout, damn near deafening in the small room. Standing so quickly she nearly loses her footing, she catches sight of Kylo grabbing at the assailant. There’s a hiss of pain, though she’s not sure whether it comes from her husband or from the assailant. It’s difficult to tell in the dark, the moonlight bright but not quite bright enough. 

The curtains of the bed block the moonlight from reaching where she needs. Reaching up, she fumbles blindly on her bedside table. Her fingers brush the soft fabric of a handkerchief before they brush metal. She can hear grunts and groans, curses flying from the mouth of both men as she grabs the blade. The men are too occupied with their own struggle to realize her presence, and she just barely sees rough burlap between the shadows and the moonlight. It’s not much, but it’s enough, and she reaches, plunging the blade into the first place she sees. 

It turns out to be the assailant’s shoulder. He lets go immediately, crying out in pain, and Kylo takes the opportunity to pin him to the ground. Rey stares, breathing hard, her entire body aching from her fall as he grabs the mans hands and presses them to his back. The man howls in pain, cursing foul things.

“I thought you said there was a guard!” Rey hisses, glaring at her husband.

“There _was _a guard!” Kylo hisses right back. 

Rey jumps, startled as the sound of a door hitting the wall comes from behind her. Turning, she can see Poe and Finn, both armored and armed, their hands on their blades as they stare at their emperor holding down the assailant.

“I need a medic,” Kylo growls, his eyes darker than Rey’s ever seen them. “And for fuck’s sake, find who was _supposed_ to be guarding!"

✥

She didn’t see her husband’s face when he spoke out to Alois in her defense. She merely heard the rage in his voice. As she watches him loom over the young guard, she hopes she never has to see the man angry again. His face is completely still, stony and cold as he looks down at the guard.

They moved in shifts. The guard who had been watching her vigilantly had left two hours after she had fallen asleep, and the young man had replaced him. So young he still has spots, and the beard he has can just barely be called as such. His age makes him look all the more terrified as he looks up at the infuriated emperor.

“You went to relieve yourself,” Kylo says through clenched teeth.

“I sent for assistance, for someone to cover me,” the young man insists. If he hadn’t relieved himself before, Rey’s damn sure that he’d be doing it now. “But no one came in time, and I didn’t want to—”

“You didn’t want to piss yourself, and so you stepped away and gave the assassin a perfect opportunity to enter your empress’s rooms.”

“I—” 

“Should I be concerned about the fact that your loyalty fell to your bladder instead of your empress, and therefore the empire itself?”

“Kylo-“ Rey tries. 

“The man could have killed you!” It’s a shout as he turns on her, his eyes blazing. “Do you understand the weight of the situation?”

“Yes, and I also understand that I had a weapon, that you heard my fall, that you came in and held him down and that he is currently sitting being guarded by five men as a medic attends his shoulder!” Rey hisses. “Would I have preferred it to happen this way? No! But we have him in custody and now we have the chance to question him instead of attempting to question everyone in the city!” 

Kylo says nothing. He simply stares at her, his chest noticeably rising and falling and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Was it a stupid thing to do?” Rey insists. “Yes, it was _unbelievably _stupid. But we have him in custody. And he will give us the answers we need.”

“Your safety was compromised—”

“Yes!” Rey hisses. “Yes, it was! I am not denying it! But it ended as well as it could have. I am alive. I am well. He is wounded and in custody and we will be able to question him in the morning. If anything, he _helped_ us. He's saved us from spending countless hours searching for answers when all the answers we need are currently in the infirmary."

The rage in his eyes does not dim, but his shoulders sag ever so slightly. His eyes remain on her for another few heartbeats before he’s turning to the young man. The truth of the situation is that they slaughtered all of Snoke’s guards, and the men who have been acting as guards for the past month are simply members of the Resistance. And though all of them are loyal to the cause of starting a new empire, a new age … she will admit not all of them are advisor-worthy in terms of knowledge, or sense. 

“I’m alive,” she reassures, her voice softer. “I will be outrageously sore in the morning, but I am alive. And he is captured.”

“That does not mean there is any less danger. There could be others.”

“This is true. Which means we will have two guards at all times watching my balcony.”

The young guard is quaking so much Rey’s unsure of how he’s staying upright. Kylo pins him with a glare. “We will speak about your punishment in the morn.”

“Y-yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Kylo turns and starts to walk away so quickly that she almost lets him go, sure he has some sort of task that requires immediate attention. She’s opening her mouth to speak to the young guard when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees Kylo turn and look at her over his shoulder. He stops, and she takes that to mean she is to be following him. 

“The punishment will _not_ be death,” Rey assures the young man quickly before she’s turning and walking up to join her husband. “Yes, what is it?”

“You’re quite calm for having almost been killed,” he mutters.

“You say that as though it is the first time,” she mutters right back, wrapping her robe close around herself as though the warmth will help calm her still-racing heart. “There were several who did not agree with Snoke’s choice of wife. If you think last night was my first brush with someone attempting to take my life, you’re a fool.” 

“I didn’t wish to entertain the thought of you being taken from this world any more than I already have.”

Rey hums, taking two steps for every one of his as they walk back to their rooms. She can see more guards milling about, more men with armor and swords, more men to protect her. “It will happen more.” 

“Aye. And we will prepare for it. Your doors—” 

“My doors will remain open, thank you,” Rey insists, turning and looking up at her husband. “If that means having three guards or four guards watching the damn doors then so be it, but I will not sacrifice something that was taken from me four years ago that brings me joy and comfort.” 

“Having your doors open brings you joy and comfort," he repeats, skeptical.

“Listening to the sound of the sea does. You know how much the it means to me.”

His eyes soften, and the tension releases from his back, his shoulders, his jaw. “Three guards.”

“I will accept that.” It’s perhaps a little much, two would suffice, but if it means she can still listen to the sounds of the sea, she’ll accept it. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

“Wait.”

He reaches out and catches her arm before she can truly walk away and return to her bed, the aches and pains of her fall to the hard floor catching up with her. Rey turns, feeling the warmth of his hand through her robe as he gently holds her upper arm. “… yes?” 

“Would you…” he starts, before he pauses, as though trying to find the words. When he finally does speak, they are not what she expects. “Would you consider letting me guard you tonight? In your room? You have chairs in there, do you not?”

Rey hesitates, before confirming, “I do.”

“It would comfort me to know you are safe.”

He is asking to guard her as she sleeps, she realizes. He is sacrificing his own rest to ensure that hers is peaceful. She moves her arm out of his grasp, but only to face him fully. No one would dare attack again tonight, they both know that. It would be an even more foolish decision than leaving a guard post to relieve one’s self without having someone to take the position. No, there will not be another attack tonight. 

And yet he wants to watch over her. 

“Would it ease your mind?” she asks, her voice quiet as she looks up at him.

“It would.”

She thinks of it. Thinks of him sitting in her room, thinks of him watching her. Thinks of him sitting in a chair, legs crossed, hands upon the armrests. It makes her heart clench in her chest and her breath catch, as those large hands turn into long hands, fingers thin and pale and cold—

Rey inhales sharply, seeing the confusion in her husband’s face before she looks away. “I … I’m sorry. I can’t.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before his hand is sliding down her arm. He takes her hand. He doesn’t squeeze, he doesn’t lace their fingers. He merely holds, and the warmth of his skin against hers helps her breathe through the heavy feeling that comes with the worst memories of _him._

“Then let me walk you back.”

She nods. Yes, yes, he can do that. 

The fire has been relit and is warm and crackling by the time they enter her rooms. He guides her robe off of her shoulders, putting it on its hook as she splashes her face with cool water. When she reaches the bed, she sees the torn pillow, the fabric sliced from the assailant’s blade and feathers spread across the blankets. She picks up one, feeling its softness between her fingers before she lets it gently fall to the floor.

“May I lock this?”

Rey looks up, seeing Kylo Ren standing by the balcony door. “For tonight, yes,” she says quietly. “The wind off the sea is too cold tonight, anyway.”

She wonders if his heart settles with the sound of the lock turning in the door. Hers does, even if it’s just slightly.

“Goodnight.” His smile is small, forced. “I pray that I will not have to say it for a third time.”

“Aye, agreed. Goodnight." 

She notices that he doesn’t close the door between their rooms all the way. It is left cracked open. The lights dim ever so slightly, but not quite enough to indicate sleep. He is still awake and plans to be awake for some time. A distant, vigilant guard.

Before she crawls into bed, she walks to the door. With the lights dimmed, she can’t see much beyond the crack, but she can at the very least speak through it. “They would be stupid to attack again tonight.”

Silence. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats. 

“To be fair, this night is not exactly one of wise decisions on the part of men.”

She has to grin at that, bowing her head and whispering one last, “Goodnight.” 

She moves away from the door before she can hear whether he replied in kind.


	15. XV.

“The emperor is in the office.”

“Thank you, Rhys.”

The guard bows his head in acknowledgement as Rey leaves her room. She can hear his footsteps behind her and is grateful he doesn’t walk beside her. She’s aware of his presence but is left to her own thoughts as she makes her way down the hallway. She appreciates the efforts. She wonders if the orders came from Kylo, or whether the young man is just aware of her want to be left as alone as she can reasonably be.

The early morning sun comes in through the large glass window at the end of the hall, dappling rainbows across the marble floors. It’s beautiful, truly, for the morning after she was almost killed, and the irony in it doesn’t escape her as she pushes the door to the office open. 

When she had approached the door, she had heard her husband’s voice, and a few others. Now, as she steps into the room, the four men fall silent. Poe, Hux, Finn, and Kylo Ren turn to her, watching her as she slips inside the office, her brow furrowed. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Not at all,” Finn is quick to offer, and Rey takes that as her cue to continue entering the office.

“We’ve just heard that your stab victim is awake, and speaking cohesively,” Poe explains, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Oh, good,” Rey says, her voice laced with just a bit of sarcasm. “Then we can go speak to him.” 

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” Hux says. “We?” 

Rey stares at him, catching Finn’s eyebrows raising and his eyes shifting to the bookshelves out of the corner of her eye. “Yes, we. Why do you question such a notion?”

“The man attempted to kill you,” Hux tries. “I’d assume that to see him face to face would be quite a shock, and for a woman of your-“

“I wouldn’t-“ Poe mutters.

“A woman of my what?” Rey demands. “Unless the story has been changed, I was the one who wounded him last night. The attempt was made on my life, not yours, not Poe’s not, Finn’s, not the emperor’s. If I wish to see the man who was paid to kill me, I will. And I do so wish to see him.”

“Forgive me,” Hux says quickly, bowing his head. Poe and Finn exchange a look, but she notices her husband is staring right at her, his face completely devoid of any emotion.

“I will be seeing him,” Rey insists.

“Of course,” Kylo says before Hux can open his mouth and blunder further. “We were just waiting for you.”

✥

She’s never been to this part of the palace before. Then again, there were many places of the palace she wasn’t given access to as Snoke’s empress. She wasn’t allowed in the servant’s quarters, or the kitchens, or in a handful of the meeting rooms. But she most certainly wasn’t allowed near the cells. As they walk down, there’s a draft, the green-blue-grey sea visible through thin slits in the wall, and she hugs her arms around herself, wishing she’d thought to bring a shawl or something to shield her from the cold stone.

Kylo Ren walks alongside her, and she can hear the footsteps of Poe, of Hux, of Finn, and of the three other guards they brought with them just behind her and her husband. But she thinks little of them, instead looking towards Kylo Ren.

He didn’t sleep, that much is clear. The circles under his eyes are darker, but she’s grateful for his vigilance, for it meant she slept soundly. She recalls waking up a handful of times in the night to see the faint light beneath the door, before slipping back into the warm darkness.

“He slept late,” she mutters, attempting to fill the awkward silence as they continue their descent into the cells. The stairs are narrow, and winding. “The assassin.”

“The physician gave him a potent herbal mix to help with the pain. To my knowledge, it helped him sleep through it, as well.” 

“I’m surprised you let him be treated so well,” Rey comments. “I would have thought you wanted him to be in agony all night.”

“I do not deny it crossed my mind,” he says with a sigh. “But Hux reminded me that terrible pain often clouds the mind, and that’s the last thing we want when we are questioning him. That, and it wouldn’t do to have him bleed out in his cell before we could ask him.”

“Aye,” Rey confirms quietly. She watches as he reaches up, running a hand through his hair and massaging his temples. No doubt he has a headache from lack of sleep, no doubt he is sore from two nights of activity. There’s the slightest urge to do what she did with her very small cousins when they were fussy, to run her fingers through her hair to soothe. The urge becomes strong enough that she lifts her hand, only to lower it back to her side. She attempts to swallow her heartbeat as she looks down at the steps beneath her feet as they start to go down yet another set of stairs.

“I wonder,” he mutters.

“Yes?”

“How did you know that you were stabbing him, and not me?” 

_He doesn’t have your shoulders, _she wants to say. _He doesn’t have your hair. _Even if she hadn’t seen the burlap, she would have known from shape alone. It frightens her a bit to know she is so familiar with his shape, now. “I saw rough burlap in the moonlight. I know you went to bed wearing ivory linen.”

“Ah.” Her explanation is good enough for him, it seems. “Do you have questions for him?”

“Yes. I have significant doubts as to whether he will be able to answer them, or whether he will be willing to speak at all, but I do have questions, yes.”

“Good.”

The cells were created from the original palace plans, long before Snoke. The workmen carved down into the rock, the walls of the cells made of the cliffs facing the sea. There are bars on the windows, rusted with age, but it’s a very, very long way down to the water below. There have been a few attempts, or so she heard. None ended well. 

Water is dripping somewhere. She can hear the sea from some of the cells, the crashing of the waves against the rocks. The warden is already waiting for them, hand on his keys. All those who had been imprisoned under Snoke’s rule were apparently released in the rebellion, for their man is the only one in the entire cellblock. 

The assassin is not an attractive man. Though whoever paid for her execution no doubt had to pay a hefty amount of coin, she expects that very little of it would have gone to the man before them. His teeth are brown and rotten, and it’s quite clear that both his nose and his jaw have been broken once upon a time, and healed poorly. Poor health, and poor hygiene. 

She’s not surprised when the man spits in her direction as soon as they approach the cell. She is surprised that Kylo holds his temper for the moment, instead regarding the man carefully.

“Another attempt the night after the first,” he says simply. “Careless and foolish.”

The assassin says nothing, though his glare speaks volumes. He looks between the emperor and empress, and then beyond them to the guards. Poe, Hux, and Finn remain close. 

Rey can see Kylo’s hand curling into a fist at his side, frustrated with the man’s lack of answer. She reaches out, touching her husband’s forearm gently. “He’s not worth it,” she mutters under her breath, before she looks to the man who attempted to kill her. “Which order employs you?” 

The man stays silent. He grits his teeth, seemingly looking beyond her. Rey can see the way he’s holding himself rigid, can see the bundle of bandages beneath the burlap of his tunic. Blood has seeped through the fabric, but it’s darkened. It’s not fresh. He does not bleed still, or at the very least is not bleeding much. There is sweat, though, dark in patches under his arms and along his chest. No doubt the pain caused such stains.

“Answer her.” Kylo’s voice is hard, demanding. It sends a shiver down her spine, the feeling not entirely unpleasant as she continues to stare at the man who almost had her blood on his hands.

Still, the man remains silent. Perhaps it was foolish to jump in with such a question. “Do you know who requested the act?” Rey asks.

The sound of water dripping somewhere in another cell fills the uncomfortable quiet. They wait one heartbeat, two heartbeats, before Kylo repeats, “Do you know who requested the act?”

“No,” the man says simply, looking directly at the emperor.

“He won’t speak to me,” Rey mutters under her breath. Her hand slips down Kylo’s forearm, feeling just how tight and tense his fist is. “Calm yourself. You can’t tell me you expected this to be easy.” 

“I expected a man who was caught attempting to kill you to be more cooperative,” Kylo says, raising his voice ever so slightly to speak to both her and the would-be assassin. “Especially if his cooperation led to a more lax sentence.” 

“That won’t work,” Rey insists under her breath. “Should he walk, he will be found and killed by his own order for failing and being captured.”

“We could offer him exile,” Poe offers, stepping forward. “I would much prefer to see him torn limb from limb after all of his appendages are sliced off one by one, but I doubt that would get us many answers.”

“One appendage for every question gone unsanswered?” Hux offers. 

Poe turns to the redheaded general. “I like that.”

“There will be no removal of appendages or limbs,” Kylo says firmly.

“At least not under your orders,” Poe mutters under his breath. 

“We can offer you exile, and safe passage to one of the far eastern islands,” Kylo insists, his voice louder as he addresses the assassin. “That is, if you give us the answers we need.”

The man continues to glare at the emperor. He keeps his dirty, cracked lips shut, shifting his angry eyes from the emperor to the empress and back again. 

“You’re not mute,” Poe snaps. “You’ve proven that already. If you want to keep your fingers, I suggest you speak.”

“Poe,” Rey hisses.

“If bargaining doesn’t work, one must move on to the next tactic: threats.” 

“I don’t know,” the man says between gritted, rotting teeth.

“Ah, it worked,” Poe exclaims.

“You don’t know what?” Rey demands. He is silent. 

“You don’t know what?” Kylo repeats, his anger evident in his voice, in the clench of his own teeth.

“They don’t tell us who paid,” the man insists. “We’re just given the mark.”

“Who is they?” Rey asks. “Who do you work for?" 

His silence is to be expected. Kylo’s hand slamming against the wooden door of the cell isn’t. The clang of metal echoes through the cell, and everyone who isn’t the emperor jumps, including the man within the cell. He hisses in pain, reaching for his shoulder, pressing his hand to the wound. Rey can see fresh blood, the stain spreading with his movement.

“You will answer your empress.” His voice is calm, almost eerily so. 

Rey can feel Poe tense beside her, and when she turns, she can see Hux has gone still as well. Neither of them are looking towards Kylo. But their posture is tense, matching her husband’s. It seems as though the entire cell block is cold, and she shivers, turning back to the emperor and resting her hand upon his forearm. The silence, though frustrating before, is now unnerving as she reaches down to her husband’s wrists. Feeling his pulse, it’s hammering wildly, anger heating his blood and making his breath short. She can hear it, but looking up to him, his face is stony. 

“I told you he may not answer,” she whispers, keeping her voice low so that the man in the cell doesn’t hear. “We may find his most valuable answer on his body. We can ask the medic if he saw anything when he was treating him.”

He turns and looks at her, and she’s startled by the coldness in his eyes. It’s only a moment, only a flash before he’s softening, and his fist is loosening. “… we’ll return after questioning the medic.”

“That’s right,” she whispers. “It’s our best chance at answers if he won’t cooperate.”

“And if the physician doesn’t have answers?”

“Then we let Poe at him,” Rey mutters, looking to the side to the second in command. She’s never seen him look so murderous, his shoulders tight and chiseled jaw clenched in anger despite his quips before. “He’ll speak then.”

Kylo hums, before turning from her. Her hand is left empty as she watches him go. Instead of walking with him, she walks alongside Finn. She can see her husband take the steps two at a time in an effort to leave the cells more quickly.

“I told him I was unsure as to whether we would get answers,” Rey says, feeling the presence of guards behind her, as well as Poe and Hux.

“I don’t think it was the lack of answers that made him so angry,” Poe offers.

“Then what was it?”

“That the man would answer him, but not you,” Hux explains.

Rey stops, turning on the staircase and frowning down at the men who look up at her. “He tried to kill me, of course he wouldn’t answer me.”

“It suggests many things,” Hux insists, moving past Poe and Finn to stand beside her. “But overall it suggests a lack of respect for you, and perhaps women overall.”

He continues upwards, leaving the cold stairwell. Rey continues to frown, following the lanky redheaded man. She wasn’t exactly expecting respect from the man who tried to take her life not once, but twice. 

“I’m going to see if the desk in his rooms will reveal any more secrets to me. If he needs me, that’s where I’ll be,” Rey says, turning to Poe and Finn as they reach the main floor of the palace. 

“I’ll tell him, and I’ll tell the kitchens to bring your lunch there,” Finn insists.

“I’ll accompany you,” Poe says. “If you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” Rey says.

She much prefers the rest of the palace to the cells. For as gaudy and overdone as it is, she has to admit it’s significantly warmer, and brighter than the cells themselves. She shudders, letting the chill of that damned place slip from her skin before she makes her way towards the grand staircase.

✥

“How did you know that there would be a secret compartment in the desk?”

She’s abandoned her jewelry, the clinking of her bracelets and rings annoying her as she moved her hands about the desk. She’s taken all of the drawers out, and is now feeling around the significant amount of ornamentation, trying to see if there’s anything of significance in the flora and fauna carved into the wood. “My late husband was clever, and clever people hide things,” she explains, using her nails to feel for seams under some of the more pronounced carvings. 

“I question why you refer to him as your husband more often than you speak his name.”

“Because the taste of his name is like ash on my tongue,” Rey explains, grunting a little as she scoots over to inspect another area of the desk. “I have no wish to speak it if I don’t have to.”

“Understandable,” Poe replies. He is quiet, something she is grateful for a few moments. It allows her to concentrate, to press against distinct shapes and to examine the piece of furniture further. It doesn’t last long, though. “You seem to be missing him less.”

“I wouldn’t say I missed him,” she confesses. “To miss him implies I enjoyed his presence in my life. I will be very clear when I say I do not miss him. However, it was like finding a button missing from your jacket, or a hole in your sheets has finally been sewn up. You became used to its presence, but that does not necessarily mean you miss it. Am I making sense?” 

“You are,” Poe replies. “Very clear sense.” 

“Thank you.”

“Can I assist?” 

“I don’t believe so,” Rey says, turning her head to look at the second in command. “It’s times like these when long, feminine nails are useful.”

“Ah. I regret I do not have those,” Poe exclaims, raising his hand so that she can see his short, blunt nails. Rey smiles gently, shaking her head.

“No, you do not.”

It’s not until she comes around the front, and to the other side that she finds something of value. If one was sitting at the desk, it would be within arm’s reach. A rose, carved beautifully with many petals. She’s going through her search when she finds a seam between the ornament and the wood, and she grins, reaching to push it. A gentle push apparently triggers a spring, and the flower pops out ever so slightly, now able to be turned.

“I daresay you’re more clever than Snoke was,” Poe says.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rey replies, reaching up to turn the rose. It doesn’t work away from her, but she pulls it towards her, towards where the desk chair is. Once again, there is the sound of something shifting in the desk, and she looks up at Poe, grinning brightly. 

“I would,” Poe insists, standing and walking over to the desk. “As clever, significantly less cruel.”

“Less cruel implies I am cruel in some regard,” Rey breathes, standing and dusting the dark teal silk of her dress off. She looks down at the desk, humming when she doesn’t see anything significantly different. 

“I’m sure you are in some ways. There’s nothing wrong with a little cruelty when used on the right people,”

“Aye,” Rey agrees, going to her knees again. This time it’s easier to see the difference. The bottom drawer on the left side was too shallow to go all the way through to the other side of the desk. It had been obvious there was something, but the drawer revealed no other secrets. Now, she can see that a panel has been pulled upwards, no doubt some pulley system controlled by the rose. Rey grins, reaching for the slim packet of papers, wrapped delicately in thin leather almost the size and color of the compartment itself. To the untrained eye, if the panel had been opened by chance, they would see brown and that would be it. She can see the gleam of the leather in the light, though, and reaches for it, pulling it out and setting it upon the desk.

“What is it?” Poe asks, standing beside her as she reaches for the golden seal holding the thin leather closed. No doubt Snoke had it sealed so that it would be obvious if someone had tampered with it.

“No idea,” Rey breathes. “But I sincerely hope that it’s what we’re looking for.”

Prying the seal from the leather is no small task, the molten metal holding the pieces together firmly. But with some strength, and a little help from the man beside her, they manage to open the leather and peer inside. Some of the papers are older, no doubt older than Rey, yellow and crumbling a little. But others are newer, brighter, on top of the older ones as Rey stares down at what are, without a doubt, contracts.

Contracts that have a very distinct symbol. It’s not a crest, no, it’s simpler than that. Something easily recognizable, and easily carved into a piece of metal to act as a brand. Rey’s breath hitches in her throat as she sees the symbol, the same one she recognized from the papers on his desk all those years ago.

“Rey?” 

She flips through the papers quickly. The one she recognizes is not the only one. But it’s a clue, it’s what they needed, it will provide answers if they can just see the symbol on the man’s skin— 

“This is it,” she whispers, pointing to the symbol. “This is the symbol I saw, the one from the assassin’s order. Well, one of them.”

“Fuck me,” Poe breathes, reaching for the pile of papers. “So all of these papers—”

“Contracts,” Rey explains.

“Fuck,” he repeats. 

His reaction is understandable. She feels sick to her stomach. She assumed there would be a few, to be sure, she knew Snoke had enough blood on his hands to probably drown himself in. But to see the stack of papers, a dozen if not two, perhaps more… to see the proof of it is something else entirely.

There’s a dark thought, quick and fleeting but it occurs all the same. She has to wonder if she would see her family’s name scrawled somewhere on the papers, but she knows the reality. And that is that he did not have to hire someone to kill her family. All he had to do was order his men to Jakku, and that was that. They were not so high profile or so important as to require secrecy and stealth, as to require an assassin. No. Snoke ordered a slaughter. He did not think about wasting the money on an assassin. They weren’t worth the coin. 

“Rey?” 

Poe’s hand is gentle and comforting on her back, and she takes a shaky breath, wrapping the papers back up to be taken to the great office. “I’m all right.” 

“It’s fine not to be,” he assures her. 

“Thank you.” It’s soft, and quick, before she straightens her back and aligns her shoulders and looks towards him. “Let’s take these to him.”

✥

Apparently they found it useful to keep Snoke’s physician alive. Rey’s interacted with him thankfully only a handful of times, once when she slipped on a just-scrubbed patch of flooring and bruised her hip, and few others when she was ill during the cold season. She recognizes his face, pale though it may be, as he rushes past her and Poe towards the emperor’s office. Frowning, she and Poe exchange looks before they go after the old man.

“Your Imperial Majesty—” they catch him saying as they approach the office.

“Yes?” Rey demands.

The physician turns and looks at her, his eyes wide. “Ah, forgive me, my empress—”

“What’s the matter?” Kylo Ren demands, standing from where he’d been sitting in one of the armchairs, the book he was reading set aside. “What’s happened?”

“The assassin, he—”

“No,” Kylo insists, already predicting the man's words. 

“We all missed it,” the physician says. “I know very little of the customs, but I've heard that sometimes it’s a faux tooth they bite down on, sometimes it’s in their clothes. We believe it was the hem of his shirt, the burlap’s weave was large enough that he managed to get the herbs through."

“Do you know what they were?” Poe demands. 

“Not as of yet,” the doctor insists, turning to look at Poe and Rey. “It’s anyone’s guess, but the effects are… not exactly pleasant.”

Rey looks to Kylo Ren, seeing the emperor shocked still. Just behind him she can see Hux standing by the window, before the general starts to walk closer, his posture stiff. “And you are sure he is dead?” Hux asks.

“He was blue in the face, and blood coming from his ears and nose,” the physician explains. “There was no pulse. I felt both his neck, and his wrist. No breath, either.”

She’s not exactly sure how to describe what she’s feeling. Shock, perhaps. Not disappointment, no, and certainly not grief or anything with such emotional attachment. But there is a sinking in her stomach, before she’s turning to the physician once more. 

“A mark,” she insists. “Did you see a mark anywhere on him? Something distinctive? Perhaps branded?” 

“Yes,” the man says simply. “I do believe I did, when I was healing him. A strange mark, on his ribs. It had healed well, but it remained, yes.”

“He must have joined the order at a young age, then,” Poe mutters.

Rey turns from the physician and rushes towards Kylo, offering him the leather packet. He takes it from her, opening it and staring down at the contracts.

“There. I told you he employed assassins,” Rey insists, pointing to the symbol stamped into the contract on top. “They were well hidden in his desk. I have no doubt he kept them for bragging rights. The one I saw was out when he was meeting with the elite.”

“Just what we need,” Kylo says, looking up at her. “You’re brilliant.”

“Hardly,” Rey replies, though she can’t stop her cheeks from flushing as he moves by her, walking towards the physician.

“I need to see him. I need to see the mark,” he insists. 

“I would recommend waiting until we’ve cleaned him up a bit, unless you have a stomach of steel, Your Imperial Majesty. It was a nasty sight even for me, and I’ve seen many things in my day.”

“Very well,” Kylo says. “Inform me when he is ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re close,” Rey says. “We’re very close.”

“That we are,” Kylo replies, walking towards her. “I’m sure you have your suspicions as to who called for such an action.”

“Aye, I do, but there is no sense in throwing a stone at the wrong window,” Rey replies. “Especially not when we don’t wish to anger even more potential allies.”

“I doubt we will find many in the elite.”

“You may be surprised,” Rey says. “I know none well enough to confirm their position, but I sincerely hope that we will be able to convince some that an empire without Snoke is a preferable one." 

She wouldn’t call the quirk of his lips a smile. It’s barely a flicker, truly, just the barest hint of something. But there is no warmth, not really. For someone so optimistic, so hopeful about the future of the empire, it seems as though his hope does not lie where hers is. “I hope so, too,” he says, though she doubts the truth of his words.

✥

With all of the symbols sketched out onto a single piece of parchment for reference, she is able to take the papers themselves back to her rooms. She’s not sure whether she hopes her family is there, or whether she hopes they aren’t. On the one hand, she knows logically he sent an ambush, not an assassin. But perhaps there is evidence of the order, of the supplies or something of that sort, of who would be leading such an attack. 

It’s foolish, really, to want some proof. To want some sort of reassurance that her family existed beyond her memory. To see her father’s name on paper, her mother’s, her family name.

Even if it is to read their death sentence.

The orders become difficult to read, after the third or fourth contract. She can see him, completely and easily, in her mind’s eye. Snoke was a boastful man, about everything he considered his. He showed off his palace. He showed off his jewels. He showed off the contracts he made regarding the death of others.

He showed off _her_.

As heavy as they were, she is grateful for the thickness of her gowns, the many layers of skirts they required for their volume for it meant she did not feel his thin knee as she sat upon it. It wasn’t sexual, no, of course it wasn’t. But she felt very much like one of those foolish dolls Snoke called upon to perform at some of the balls. The ones sitting on their puppeteer’s knee, the ones whose mouths moved up and down as the puppeteer spoke for them.

Thick though the skirts were, preventing her from feeling his knee, she could still feel the tightness of his hand upon her waist. A warning. An instruction. An order.

_Be still, be silent, be pretty._

The memory makes her stomach turn, and combined with the sheer horror of seeing the literal pile of contracts, she doesn’t have a chance. She’s ill in the closest vessel, some vase that held flowers this morning but is empty now thanks to some maid. Her throat burns, tears escaping from her eyes as she sobs so hard it hurts. Their names are still burned behind her eyelids, in his beautiful handwriting. George, lord of Gentry Isle. Carson, duke of Bates Hill. Once nobles, owning land, living their lives, holding their children, walking through their gardens and overseeing their people…

The taste of bile and ash is a vile one, and she crosses to pour herself a cup of sweet, dark wine, desperate to rinse her mouth. 

She almost misses the gentle knock on the door connecting their rooms. “Yes?” she calls, trying to keep her breathing under control as she turns to see the door open. She puts the cup down, the taste of alcohol more pleasing than sickness and dread.

The emperor hasn’t yet undressed for bed. He’s still in the embroidered tunic, still in the trousers from the day. “You’re not all right,” he says, skipping the question and moving straight to the truth. 

Rey stares at him, wanting desperately to let the words fall from her lips – no, to let the lie fall from her lips that she is all right, that she is fine and that there is nothing to worry about. “I am not, no.” 

She can feel her nose running, and she sniffles. Unladylike, yes, but she has no idea where a handkerchief is, has no idea where they’re kept in this new room, has no idea where she put her last one… Sighing, she turns, taking the packet of contracts and offering them to Kylo Ren. “Please,” she begs. “Take these. I can’t look at them anymore.”

He does as asked, taking the packet from her. His eyes never leave her. “Can I assist?” 

“You’ve been going through his papers,” she says, the words leaving her lips almost in a jumble. “If you come across anything regarding Jakku, anything regarding my parents, my family, I have a wish to see it.” 

“I will let you know.” 

“I need to know,” she insists. Her throat burns, and she feels as though it is closing as she stares up at him, into those damned dark eyes. “I need to know that there is evidence of them. I need to know they exist somewhere beyond my memory.”

“I will let you know,” he repeats. It’s softer this time. Not that it wasn’t soft before, no, but this time she knows he understands. Though she knows nothing of his family, hell, she doesn’t even know his birthname, let alone any personal details, there is something understood between them. He tells her he will let her know, and she believes it. She believes him.

“Thank you.” It’s almost a relieved sigh as she reaches up to rub her tears away. Within seconds, a handkerchief is pressed into her hand. She uses it to wipe the tears that insist upon coming still. 

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she breathes back, fingers feeling the edge of the handkerchief as he closes the door behind him. She can feel the delicate stitches, the embroidered hem. Soon, her fingers find the initial, and she traces the line of it with her thumb as she goes to her washbasin to cleanse her face of tears.

Both of the handkerchiefs he’s given her have been embroidered with B.

_B._

_Barron. Bryson. Beau. Ben. Bevan. Blaine._

It doesn’t comfort her mind, no, but it distracts it enough from the contracts that her chest stops aching, and the sting of tears is no longer so present.


	16. XVI.

“He wants to have breakfast with you.”

Finn was assigned to be one of her guards last night. This morning, he looks tired, a little worn, but his smile is no less soft as he stands by her door. Rey blinks at him, confused, her eyes still blurry with sleep as she makes her way to her washbasin. 

“Does he?” Rey asks, sighing as she settles down on the stool. Gods, she's still so tired... her night was plagued with visions of burlap and blood and a body that looked too much like her own for comfort. She groans, splashing her face with the fresh rosewater some kind maid brought before she woke. “Tell him I need to get dressed, and then I will join him.” 

“He informed me to tell you not to get dressed.”

Rey’s mid-splash, her hands pausing and water dripping from her cheeks and chin as she looks back up at Finn. “… what?”

Her friend realizes his blunder, and she can see his cheeks flush. “He wants it to be informal,” Finn insists. “A proper gown won’t be needed.” 

“A proper gown will be needed if I say it’s needed,” Rey mutters. She reaches for a rag, wiping her face with a sigh. “… where is this breakfast to be?” 

“In his sitting room.”

“Fine. I’ll be there shortly.”

Finn gives her an acknowledging nod before he departs, and she’s left to reach for her brush. Informal. There are many things about this new age that are becoming more informal, and though she enjoys most of it, she’s not entirely sure about the idea of having breakfast with her husband in their nightclothes.

It feels almost … childish. 

Still, she can’t deny the comfort as she makes her way to his sitting room, her robe wrapped around her and embroidered slippers cushioning her steps. She took the time to braid her hair, to brush some rouge on her cheeks, to make herself just a bit more presentable than someone who just woke up.

It seems her husband didn’t do the same. His hair is still wild from sleep, his cheek bearing a crease from the pillow. He’s pulled on trousers, at the very least, but she would bet all of her jewels that the tunic he’s wearing is the same one he slept in. It’s rumpled and wrinkled enough for it to be the case.

“Forgive me,” he mutters, running a hand down his face. “I did not sleep well.” 

“There is nothing to forgive. Honestly, neither did I,” Rey says, hoping her concern for him comes across in her voice as she moves to sit. A servant pulls out her chair for her, and she thanks him softly as he pushes her in. She reaches for a steaming scone, buttery and fresh. This feels strange. This feels incredibly strange. At least with the dinner she had with him before, she was in a gown, and it was in the same dining room where she had dined with Snoke. There was a little bit of familiarity in a world completely turned upside down. Now, the only familiarity she has is her beloved robe, the weight of the embroidered fabric grounding on her shoulders as she watches her husband reach for a cup of golden tea.

“Poe and Hux have gone into the city," he says, scooping several spoonfuls of sugar into his cup.

“What for?” Rey asks. A small dish of butter is placed in front of her, the delicate cream studded with bits of something orange. Candied orange peel, she’s willing to bet, and she takes a hefty scoop of it.

“To track down the order.”

She’s only just lifted her knife when he speaks. “What?” she asks, perhaps a bit more harshly than she originally intended. “You sent them to track down the order?”

“That’s what I said, yes. Is that a problem?”

“No,” Rey says, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I just doubt how easily they will be able to find it. Such things aren’t exactly out in the open.”

“I gave them a pouch of coins as though to enter a contract themselves." 

“And you didn’t consult me first.”

“I didn’t think there was anything to consult.” 

“The attempt was made on my life,” Rey insists, looking up at him. “If there is to be a decision made regarding the man who attempted the action, or the order who employed him, or the man who paid the order, I would like to be a part of that decision. No, I demand that I be part of the decision. Am I heard?”

“Yes,” Kylo Ren replies immediately. “You are.”

“Thank you.” She keeps her voice soft as she finally, finally lifts the scone to her lips. She enjoys this cook much more than Snoke’s. Whoever they are, they create simple things perfectly. The scone has orange peel in it, as does the butter, the delicate taste making her hum in satisfaction. “The question is not whether they will be able to find it, because I highly doubt they will, but whether they will be caught in their efforts. It truly depends on where the order is. They are two very different looking men. Hux could pull off an elite look, of that I have no doubt, but Poe looks more like a ruffian and could slip into places Hux would be barred from.”

“And that is why I sent them both. To cover more ground.”

Rey hums, reaching to pull her cup of tea closer. She reaches for the sugar, three neat spoonfuls going into the golden brown liquid. “I’m looking forward to their report back.”

“As am I.”

There is silence between them for several heartbeats. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s significantly less tense than it was with Snoke. Granted, there wasn’t much silence with Snoke. He enjoyed hearing himself speak. She wonders if she will ever forget the sound of his voice. She doubts it, unfortunately.

“I suppose you’re disappointed you couldn’t go with them.”

Rey stops, her cup of tea just an inch or two from her lips as she looks up at her husband. “No,” she says. “Why would I be?”

“You seem very intent on solving this mystery yourself. Finding the papers and the like,” Kylo Ren replies, taking a sip of his own tea as he watches her consider this thought. 

“I won’t lie and say I don’t want to investigate it,” she says. “After all, the attempt was on my life, and I would very much like to know who put forth the coin to see my blood spilled. But I would also be lying if I said I thought it was a good idea. To walk directly into the den of the men hired to kill me? You said I was brilliant yesterday. Now I’m having my doubts about just how brilliant you think I am.”

It’s a poor attempt at a tease, and she realizes her blunder as soon as she meets his gaze. There’s something like hurt in it, and she regrets her words immediately. “I apologize if I offended you in any way,” he says hurriedly.

“I’m not offended. I was merely teasing,” she promises. Hell, now she’s the one who feels ashamed and awkward. “Forgive me if that was not clear.”

“Ah.” There’s that flush, his pale cheeks turning pink as he focuses his gaze on his plate. “It was not. But no matter. I have something else I would like to ask you.”

“Ask me, then.”

“The decree. I wondered if you would help me with it.”

“Which one?” 

“The consummation one.”

Rey had just taken a bite of her scone, and she almost chokes as he says the word. She swallows quickly, the butter easing the scone down as she reaches for her tea to help. “You are so intent on that?” she asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I thought…” she starts, meeting his gaze. He’s looking at her with such intensity that she feels her heart in her throat. “… never mind what I thought, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters very much what you thought,” he says. It’s quick, almost harsh in his insistence. “What did you think?” 

“I thought you were merely saying that,” she explains. “The night of our wedding. I didn’t think you would actually go through with the decree, even though you wrote up a draft. You had said something about it several days ago, but didn’t make the announcement.”

“I was preoccupied with other issues,” he says. “I wish to make it, still. I was wondering if you would help me with writing the official announcement. I’ve told some heralds that I will make it at noon, and to spread the word through the city.”

She watches him carefully, her hands coming to rest in her lap as she holds his gaze. “The draft did not give much detail into the reasoning of the consummation. If my discomfort at the idea is what prompted you to decree such a thing, I-“

“No,” he says, interrupting her. “No. It’s more than that.”

“Then what is it?” 

“Currently, the definition of consummation is a man and a woman coming together in physical unity,” he says, choosing his words very carefully in the presence of others, and at a dining table. “It is difficult, if not impossible entirely for some to fulfill that requirement due to their own health. But there are others, as well. I know very well that there are men who prefer the company of other men, and women who prefer the company of other women. And there are those who prefer both. You are familiar with two of my officers who prefer both.”

“… oh,” Rey says. It’s not the idea that shocks her, but she’s wracking her brain for exactly who prefers the company of both.

“You sound surprised.”

“At the idea of men loving men and women loving women, and those who love both? No, not at all. There were those in Jakku who loved as such,” she explains. “I’m merely trying to think of who the two officers could be.”

“You can’t guess?” her husband asks, raising a dark brow at her as he reaches and takes a sip of his tea.

“Well one of them is Poe, obviously,” Rey scoffs. “That man could have any man or woman in the entire empire if he just smirked and winked in their direction. I have no doubt he’s laid with many of both. But I’m trying to figure out the other.”

“You will,” Kylo replies, continuing to sip his tea. “It will come to you.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Rey mutters. “But yes, I will help you write your announcement.”

“Thank you. I would like to start after breakfast.” 

“I will dress and meet you in the office.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

She wouldn’t say it’s comfortable. She still feels incredibly awkward, aware of just how thin the linen of her nightshift is. It’s strange. It’s unusual. But she wouldn’t say it’s uncomfortable, either. It’s much preferred to any meal she had with Snoke, public or private.

If this is to be the new normal, eating breakfast with Kylo Ren while still in her sleepclothes…

It’s certainly not the worst thing in the world.

✥

Perhaps the strangest thing about this new age is that she can go anywhere she pleases. Of course, because of recent events, she can’t go there alone. But she can walk down to the kitchens, if she so wishes to. She can go into all the meeting rooms she wasn’t allowed in before, Snoke claiming that it wasn’t proper for her to be so involved in such politics. Of course, she came when he beckoned, and she was allowed to watch, to listen to such conversations. But she wasn’t allowed to involve herself.

She has to wonder if the men in the room just thought she was daft, or had the impossible ability to close her ears. Or perhaps they didn’t pay attention to her at all except to look upon the way the tight bodices pushed her breasts up and tucked her waist in.

This newfound freedom comes to her advantage as she makes her way to the kitchens. Now dressed and followed by two guards, she follows the smell of melting butter and caramelizing sugar. Her mouth waters as she holds her skirt, carefully walking down the narrow stairs, letting her nose guide her.

The sound of a breaking plate startles her into nearly tripping over the last step, and by the time she’s righted herself and lifts her gaze, it’s quite clear that the entire kitchen has paused in her presence. There are a handful of maids she recognizes, ones who must have returned after the rebellion was over. There are others she recognizes as well, simply from their presence as they brought her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The room is a beautiful mix of old and new faces, all staring at her in shock as she stands at the foot of the stairs, aware of the two guards waiting behind her. 

Feeling her heart in her throat, Rey opens her mouth only to find no words upon her lips. What does she say? Good morning? Snoke forbade her from speaking to any servant aside from her maids, no doubt a result of his obsession with power and rising above everyone else. She’s left as speechless as they are. 

“Good morning, Your Imperial Majesty.”

The woman who speaks reminds her very much of the older women on Jakku. Her skin is brown from the sun, her stature small and eyes big and wide behind thick glasses. She wipes her hands on her dark burlap apron, leaving streaks of flour behind, and Rey can see the dough she’d been kneading on the long wooden table. There are several long wooden tables in the kitchen, servants and cooks standing at them, some dicing vegetables for lunch, others kneading dough as the older woman had been. And some are sitting at the tables, indulging in their own meals, though by the looks of it all of said indulging stopped when she came in, spoons and forks halted mid-air.

“Good morning,” Rey offers in return. She wonders if the entire room can hear her heartbeat. “I … I came to … “ What did she come down here for again? Her mind goes blank as she stares at the small woman walking towards her.

“We have some pastries in the oven, if you’re hungry,” the woman offers. “Fresh and sweet.”

So that’s what she was smelling. “I would love that,” Rey breathes before she can stop herself. “It smells heavenly.”

“Nothing like a little butter, sugar, and yeast,” the woman exclaims. Her voice seems so loud in the quiet kitchen, and she turns, looking towards the staff. It becomes quite clear that she is the head cook, because she calls, “All right, enough staring, as you were!” and, like a clock suddenly rewound, the entire kitchen begins to move once more. People start eating, slicing, dicing, and chopping again, and Rey smiles a little, relieved to no longer be the center of attention.

“You weren’t here before,” Rey says, because she can’t imagine Snoke employing such a wonderful, loud woman.

“I was not, no. Your husband promised me a place in the palace, cooking for royalty for the rest of my days, if he succeeded in his taking the throne. And so here I am,” the woman explains, gesturing to herself. “Maz.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Rey replies, because it truly is. Already, the woman is as warm as the kitchen itself. “Then I suppose I have you to thank for the change in menu here.”

“Simple is often better,” Maz explains. “In many things. Food, life, words, love.”

“I would agree,” Rey replies, though she can’t exactly put her two cents in regarding love.

“Maz,” a young woman, her hair the color of brilliant copper and braided atop her head, comes over, holding a large metal spoon. “Did I add too much thyme?”

“Ask the empress,” Maz says, gesturing to Rey. “She’ll be the one eating it.”

The young woman looks to her, her eyes wide, and Rey holds up her hands. “I couldn’t, I don’t-“ Rey tries.

“It’s just some stew for tonight, go on, taste it,” Maz encourages her, waving her on.

Rey looks to the other woman, before reaching for the spoon. “May I?” 

Oh, Gods, the young woman looks petrified, but nods. Rey takes the spoon from her, blowing gently on the steaming broth before she brings the spoon to her lips. It’s still hot, almost burning her tongue as she tastes, but it’s good. It’s damn good. Snoke’s dishes were too much for her, layers upon layers of textures and flavors and expensive ingredients, overwhelming and extravagant. This is just broth, and it’s one of the best things Rey’s ever tasted. She offers the spoon back, nodding her head. “Good,” she breathes. “It’s … it’s incredibly good, thank you.”

The young woman rushes off with the spoon, and Maz hums, regarding the empress carefully. “You like my food.” 

“I do,” Rey answers, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I like it a lot.”

“Good,” Maz replies, her chest puffed out like a proud pigeon’s. There’s some kind of crash from the pantry, and she whirls around. “Alan! Check on Kenneth!” she calls, her voice reaching across the kitchen. Rey blinks in surprise that such volume can come from such a small woman before Maz is turning back around. “Take the pastries with you.”

“Only if they were not for another purpose,” Rey says, watching as the woman returns to her dough, her tanned, wrinkled hands going at it with vigor.

“They’re pastries, they’re for eating,” Maz replies as she looks towards Rey. “If that’s what you’re going to do with them, then take them.”

“They will definitely be eaten,” Rey teases, stepping forward to watch the woman knead the dough. The bread on Jakku could barely be called such. They had two kinds. One was a kind of pale, thin cracker, and the other a darker, heartier sort of bread that was almost as firm as a rock but softened when soaked with broth. Neither made her mouth water the way this bread does, the smell of it making her stomach growl even though she ate not two hours ago. 

“I’ll teach you,” Maz says suddenly. Rey looks up, the woman’s gaze still on the bread as she kneads. 

“Pardon me?” Rey asks, confused.

“I’ll teach you, if you’d like,” the woman explains. 

Rey’s opening her mouth to answer when Maz turns, pointing to the oven. “Thomas, get the pastries out and wrap them up for the empress!”

Within moments, she has a plate of pastries, wrapped in some linen cloth to keep the steam from escaping. They look and smell divine, some sort of flakey, chocolate-filled golden-colored delight that Rey’s never seen before.

“Butter,” Maz explains before Rey takes her leave. “Don’t go touching any important papers after eating one of those.”

She misses the smells and sounds of the kitchen immediately as they reach the top of the staircase, and she has half a mind to turn right back around. But her husband requested her assistance, and so her assistance she shall give.

One of the guards is smirking, the expression blatant enough as they start their walk towards the office that Rey turns to him, frowning as she asks, “What is it?”

“Maz,” the young man says by way of explanation. 

She has to agree with that.

✥

“You mentioned something at breakfast about lacking the ability to consummate at all.”

“Yes,” Kylo Ren says, standing by the fireplace, and leaning against the mantle, staring into the flames. 

“Should I include it?” Rey asks, frowning as she looks up at him. She taps the end of the quill against her lips, the feather tickling her skin as she watches her husband turn from the fire to walk towards her. Rey’s eyes go immediately to the spot of melted chocolate on his tunic collar, Maz’s pastries having been consumed with vigor by the both of them. Two remain, waiting to be eaten as a reward for their hard work once the announcement is finished. “With the other reasons?” 

Kylo frowns, crossing his arms and leaning against the desk. “Do you think it would be improper to mention such a thing so publicly?” 

“I think it’s human,” Rey replies. “The new age is about considering everyone and their needs, is it not?” 

“Perhaps not everyone,” he mutters as he walks back to her. “I have no reason to consider those who associated themselves with Snoke and his values.”

“I associated myself with Snoke,” Rey says, her voice flat. She knows that’s not what he meant, but it’s an opportunity to make her point anyway. 

“I mean those who assisted him in his violent acts. Those who fought with him. Those who funded weapons, horses, armor,” Kylo Ren explains. “I do not mean you.”

“I know,” Rey says, looking back down at the decree. “But the reality is you may have to associate with some of them. We don’t want to make any more enemies than we already have.”

“But do we truly want to make them our allies?”

“Maybe not,” Rey confesses. “But I will repeat. We don’t want to make any more enemies than we already have.”

“Your words are acknowledged.” 

“Thank you for that confirmation,” she says, moving her gaze back to the paper before her and adding a few lines. She can feel her husband’s gaze on her as she continues to write, the scratching of the quill against the paper filling the silence. She stops, reading it once more before offering it to him. “What say you?” 

He takes the parchment from her. He’s careful with it, his large hands handling the paper gingerly as the ink is not quite dry. It’s almost funny, to see him hold the parchment by its edges, not wanting to smudge or smear her hard work. She waits, tapping the end of the quill against her lower lip once more, watching his eyes as they move line by line. His face is impossible to read. That’s something he and Snoke have in common, she supposes.

And, truth be told, if they are to have one thing in common, she can accept this similarity.

“It’s good,” he says. “It’s perfect.”

“Are you certain?” she demands.

“You are a better wordsmith than I am,” he says, handing the parchment back to her. “I have ideas, but I cannot write them as well.”

“Then I thank you,” she replies. There’s the issue of a few closing remarks, but that’s not so much of an issue as it is simply tedious. She hums, starting to write more. “I haven’t written this much since the night I forced you to sleep.”

“I will be forever grateful for your assistance that night.”

“There’s no need for that,” Rey assures him. “Though it’s kind of you to say such a thing." 

“Why can I not be grateful?”

She looks up at him, considering her words carefully before she decides to set the quill in its golden holder so that she doesn’t drip ink all over their – her – work. “Because,” she says. “Because I am the empress. And during Snoke’s rule, I was deprived of the powers that that should include. And now that I have taken vows to help our people and guide them into a new age, I am glad I can help them. I should be the one who is grateful.”

Her husband says nothing to that, instead reaching for the plate of pastries. He offers it to her, letting her choose her reward. She picks one of the pastries, humming and setting it on the small plate she used before, flakes of buttery pastry dough dotting the porcelain. The butter from the treat guides her fingers as she massages her hand, her muscles cramping from writing so much.

“Could I help?”

Rey stops her rubbing, looking up towards her husband and finding his gaze focused on her hands. “Oh. No, but thank you,” she says. She looks back down at her fingers, and continues her massaging of the joints and muscles. “They ache is all.”

“Let me.”

Gods, his hands are huge. He opens his hand to her, and she stares at his palm, at the lines crossing his skin. Some from nature, his life line, his heart line, his head line, all of those folds and creases that come with being human. The lines that the older women in Jakku used to read at her father’s request, the lines that made said women tut in pity as they held her hand in their soft, withered ones.

Other lines are less natural, scars lacing across his palms. She stares at them, at the patterns they create before she puts her hand in his.

His fingers are still buttery. He hadn’t taken the care she had in wiping her skin of oil. The grease helps his thumb and forefinger slip between hers, massaging the tendons and joints. The sensation makes her feel lightheaded. It takes a moment for her to realize that it’s not his touch that’s making her lightheaded, but instead that she forgot to breathe entirely. She tries not to inhale too deeply, tries not to make it so obvious how the simple act is affecting her.

Though the intimacy makes her throat feel tight, she has to admit he is good at this. Very, very good. To massage her own hands is a constant cycle of relaxation on one hand, cramping in the other, and then repeat. To have someone else do it eliminates the effort, and she tries to breathe slowly through her nose as he massages each finger carefully, his skin warm against hers. There are still callouses on his fingers. Snoke never had callouses. She’d dare say his hands were softer than hers, no doubt some rare oil or cream from some land she’s never heard of that he conquered.

“Thank you,” she says, barely above a whisper as he rubs at the meat of her palm.

“I don’t suppose you did much writing while wed to him.” There’s a darkness to his voice.

“I did not,” Rey confirms.

Kylo Ren hums, before gesturing to her other hand. She offers it to him, watching as he repeats the same motions. It feels good. It feels incredible, actually, and she finds it difficult to breathe. The sight of his fingers between her own forefinger and thumb is damn near mesmerizing, smooth and repetitive as he soothes her aches. 

“My mother wrote constantly,” he explains. “Her hands would ache.”

“What did she-“ Rey’s starting to ask, wondering exactly what she wrote, when there’s a knock on the office door. Her hand slips from his grasp as they both look to the door just in time to see a young woman with two buns at the base of her scalp step inside. The woman stops, her hand upon the door handle as she looks between the emperor and empress.

“Should I come back?” she asks.

“No need,” Kylo says, standing from the desk. “Rey, this is Kaydel, one of my advisors. Kaydel, your empress.”

“Advisors?” Rey demands.

“Yes?” Kylo asks. He sounds genuinely confused as he looks back to Kaydel. “Is there an issue with that?”

Kaydel looks confused as well, the two of them looking to the empress in concern.

Rey finds herself speechless, staring at the young woman as her heart feels so full it’s as though it’s in her throat. A woman advisor. Her husband has chosen a woman to be one of his advisors. Never mind that a woman will be allowed in meeting rooms, she will be allowed to speak, to contribute, to voice her opinion and offer her council regarding the empire… 

To be the empress and speak her mind regarding the choices of the empire is one thing. It is her duty. She made vows. This is different. This is entirely different, in the best way possible.

“No,” Rey breathes, her eyes never leaving the woman. “No, there’s no issue at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some kind and wonderful commenter brought up something I didn't consider, and I wanted to clear this up right away. Kylo is close with someone who physically couldn't consummate their marriage. That doesn't mean he can't consummate his, eventually ;)


	17. XVII.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” The tiara is heavy on her head, a golden mess of diamonds and pearls. She didn’t pick it for its beauty. She picked it because the sun will shine off of it on the balcony. She picked it because she will be seen. 

She sighs, grabbing the long gloves that Amilyn made for the emerald green dress she chose. “There are many things from Snoke’s age that will need to be unlearned,” she says, pulling one glove up and looking at Finn, the general dressed in his best as well. “But I believe the lesson that presentations are valuable still has a place in this age.” 

“I dare say it does,” Finn says. His smile is soft and warm, and Rey offers him a smile of her own as she takes his arm. 

Her husband is pacing outside of the balcony doors. She can hear his footsteps, the clicking of his heels against the marble floors. Squeezing Finn’s arm gently, she parts from him, turning the corner and finding Kylo Ren walking with the parchment held tightly in his hands.

“This will be good,” she tries to reassure him, stepping forward. He’s dressed nicely, too, in black and gold and cream. She has to wonder who influenced that decision. If she were to make a guess as to who picked his wardrobe, she would have picked Hux. But given that the general is still out in the city looking for the order … she’s unsure.

“It will be,” he replies, almost too quickly to be believable. “It will be very good.” 

She resists the urge to reach for him, to press her hand to his arm and to attempt to soothe him. There’s an energy practically buzzing from him, and from past experience, she knows it’s more helpful to move, to walk, to bounce, to tap when such energy is present. So she lets him go and says nothing, watching him like a pendulum as he walks back and forth. 

A man Rey’s never seen before comes around the corner. “It’s nearly noon.”

“Thank you,” Kylo says, nodding.

“I would offer to read it,” Rey says, stepping forward to join her husband in front of the stained glass balcony doors. “But it would mean more from you.” 

Snoke didn’t like stained glass. The few windows in the palace that still have the beautiful colored panes are from ages past. She has no doubt that he had the panes replaced in many of the windows, letting the sun shine in at full brightness and illuminate all of his sparkling, gaudy things. She always enjoyed the stained glass windows of the balcony doors, though she didn’t see them often. And she very much enjoys the way the glass colors her husband’s face, his skin becoming gold and green and blue as he turns to face her.

“I don’t suppose you have experience in making decrees,” he mutters, his full lips painted red by the light shining through the glass.

“Regretfully, no,” she confesses. “And I did not listen to Snoke’s often.”

“So we are both without a clue.”

“So it seems.”

He says nothing more. She’s unsure whether it’s a trick of light, but she swears she sees the right corner of his lips quirk up slightly. A shadow of a man steps in front of the balcony doors, and Rey can see his hand reach for the door handle. It’s comforting, almost, to see the other man’s shadow come in so late for the double door entrance. Snoke would have thrown a fit at such imperfection, insisting the doors be opened exactly at the same time.

But this is not Snoke’s age, is it? No. It is Kylo Ren’s. And as they step forward, she doubts he even noticed that the left door is opened a handful of seconds after the right.

“Announcing His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Kylo Ren, and Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Rey!”

The courtyard is filled. It’s not so filled as it was for their coronation, but there are perhaps a hundred, maybe two hundred people standing in it. She hasn’t seen much of the progress regarding the garden in the middle, but now, as she looks down, she can see the cacophony of colors that it has become. Roses, lilacs, herbs, geraniums… It’s a beautiful blend of things that should not go together, and she tries to keep her smile from being too wide as they step forward to address their people.

The general address was taken directly from Snoke’s decrees. Of course, there was some editing, some flowery, overdone language taken out. But the message is the same, her husband addressing all of their people. She can see where the parchment has been wrinkled by the moisture of his hands, but keeps hers to herself, feeling the cool stone of the railing through the thin silk of her gloves.

“… we are aware of the promises we have made to you, your children, your loved ones. Some promises will take time to fulfill. We are eternally grateful for your patience, and your trust as we enter a new age of justice, of peace, of prosperity, and of equality.” 

The sun is almost blinding, the heat of the afternoon warming her skin. She looks out towards her people, their people, seeing the hundreds of faces turned up to them, and the heat suddenly feels sweltering. It’s difficult to breathe even in the looser gown, and her hands clench on the railing for support as she listens to her husband’s low, loud voice.

“… there is one promise,” Kylo explains, “that we are going to fulfill today. Despite the countless definitions of love that occur daily in our beautiful empire, the law recognizes only one when it comes to the union of two people. For a marriage to be considered legitimate, it must be consummated. Consummation is defined as a man and a woman coming together in a physical sense. And so we must ask where does that leave the men who love another man? We must also consider the women who love another women, those who cannot have a physical relationship, and those who do not desire one. We consider those whose hearts have sought out and found partners in many people. Our empire is made up of many people, and many unions. It is time we acknowledge all of them, and all of you.”

It’s surprising how quickly the tears come. She is hearing her words from her husband’s lips. He is reading her writing. He is reading the decree that she wrote.

She watches him out of the corner of her eye, trying to keep her heart together as she sees him look down at the parchment, at her handwriting. At her work to make their empire a better one than Snoke’s.

“From this day forth, a legally recognized union requires at least two people of legal age. It requires a man of the Gods. And it requires a certificate signed by all those who have participated in the union. Let us leave the requirement of consummation in the past. Let us embrace all unions, between all people. Let us celebrate the legitimacy of love in all its forms.” 

The volume of the cheers is damn near deafening. Rey relaxes slightly, turning to look at her husband. He doesn’t turn towards her, instead looking out to the people who are celebrating the first in a series of extreme changes to the empire they once knew.

Gods, she hopes they consider all the changes as good ones…

✥

She recognizes the wine that comes with their dinner. The deep, rich flavor goes perfectly with the stew Maz prepared. It’s delicious, truly, and she wonders if Maz picked it, or if one of the others did. Either way, she’s more than sure if Snoke had a grave he would be turning in it at one of his prized wines being drunk just after the first decree of the new age.

“I don’t suppose any of the other decrees will be this easy,” Rey says, stabbing a tender potato with her fork and raising it to her lips.

“I would be surprised if they were,” Kylo mutters. “Of course, it would be wonderful if everything could be done from here, but the reality is it’s likely I’ll have to send people to discuss things with the leaders of all the provinces.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Rey says, setting her fork down so that she may give her husband her full attention. “I’m not sure what you will think of this idea, but—”

A door clicks open behind her. Ordinarily, this would not be suspicious. During dinner, servants are constantly moving in and out of the room, the side door opening and closing. But Rey’s facing the side door, and the click comes from her left. The main door of the dining room opens, and she briefly sees Kylo’s eyes widening before she’s turning and looking at the interruption.

“Oh, Gods,” she breathes, standing immediately as Poe and Hux walk in. Hux looks completely fine, if not a little miffed. It’s strange to see him without a proper jacket and without his hair slicked back, but he looks fine otherwise.

Poe, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. 

“What happened?!” Rey demands, rushing around the chair to reach the man. There’s a bruise on his cheek that will no doubt become darker and uglier as the evening goes on, and blood is slowly but steadily coming from a gash in his forehead. Pushing his dark waves up and away from it, Rey can see it looks bad, yes, but isn’t truly terrible in terms of size or depth. His knuckles are bruised, the skin broken and bloody, and she stares at him with wide eyes, waiting for an explanation.

“He decided to play the hero,” Hux explains as Rey continues to examine his head wound. For someone who’s bleeding and bruised, Poe looks very pleased with himself, his chest puffing up as Hux speaks. Rey cups his cheek, watching him wince as she touches the bruise gently.

“I was not playing,” Poe insists. “I interrupted a mugging in one of the darker sides in the city, that’s all.”

“You needlessly jumped into something we were completely uninvolved in.”

“And if I hadn’t jumped in then that man would have no coin to his name, or worse,” Poe protests, turning to glare at Hux. The movement causes Rey’s fingers to brush against the gash again, and he hisses in pain.

Rey turns to one of the servants standing by, seeing Kylo standing as well. “I need fresh water and bandages,” she orders. “And two more servings of whatever we’ve been given.”

“It’s not needed, Your Majes-“ Hux tries.

“Excuse you, the injured man would like stew,” Poe says, in such a way that the redheaded man shuts his mouth and doesn’t argue further. 

“And of the order?” Kylo asks. Rey can see him out of the corner of her eye as he comes to stand beside her. 

Poe hums, turning his head so that Rey’s no longer touching the gash. She can see deep red blood on her fingers, though, and pulls her hand away, reaching for a handkerchief. “No luck, unfortunately. We got some information as to where it is in the city, but no specific location. It’s not exactly in the wealthy side, but they have a reputation for being successful. I guess if one’s desperate enough to pay for a man to kill another, they’re desperate enough to wade through shit and vomit.” 

“Lovely,” Rey mutters sarcastically as Poe smirks slightly. “Don’t do that, you’re making it bleed more.”

“Ah, blood loss. I always thought I’d go in a more dramatic way.”

“Shush,” Rey orders as a young man comes with a bowl of clean water, a few cloths, and a roll of bandages. “Thank you.” 

“The stew should be coming shortly, Your Imperial Majesty.” 

“Thank you,” she repeats, looking back to Poe. “Sit.”

Poe doesn’t sass her, instead following her orders and sitting in the chair next to hers. Hux moves to sit across from her, next to Kylo, and Rey can smell the moment fresh stew comes in. They bring fresh rolls as well, the smell of buttery bread filling her nose and covering the metallic smell of blood as she dips a cloth in the water and lifts it to Poe’s head.

“I could have taken care of it myself,” Poe says. His voice is softer, now, no longer teasing.

“Yes, if you’d had a mirror,” Rey replies. She keeps her touch incredibly gently, dabbing at the blood dried on his skin. He winces a few times, but for the most part keeps his face still and stony. “But it’s always more pleasant to have someone else care for you.”

The man hums. Rey can hear the sound of metal against porcelain, and looks over to see Hux has started on his stew. Kylo is still standing, his hands on the back of his chair as he watches her care for his second in command.

“Is there anywhere you are hurt that we cannot see?” the emperor asks. 

“Perhaps a few bruises, but nothing else to tend to, no,” Poe explains. “I’ll ache something awful tomorrow.”

“There are herbs to help with that,” Rey replies, dipping the cloth in the water again and using a clean bit to wipe at the skin. “How did this happen?”

“When he was punched, his face found the ground,” Hux says. “I will admit I am impressed with how quickly he found his footing again. I didn’t expect him to be so foolish so soon. I thought the man might have literally knocked some sense into him, but alas—” 

“Good to know you think so highly of me,” Poe snaps. 

Rey pulls the cloth away. “Your talking makes this very difficult, you know.” 

“Apologies,” Poe mutters, and she hums, going in once more. Dirt and bits of stone cling to his skin, and she sighs, working as gently but deeply as she can.

“I appreciate your efforts in regards to the order,” Kylo says. “Though I will not deny my disappointment that you did not find it.” 

“The truth of it is we may never find the man who gave the order,” Rey confesses. “I would like to know who wishes for me dead, but I have a feeling the list is longer than I’d care to think about.” 

None of the men have anything to offer in return to that. Rey can hear Hux resuming his eating, and the sound of Kylo’s chair against the floor as he sits down again. She continues bending over Poe, dabbing gently at the wound until she can see the cut itself instead of just the mess of blood and dirt and bits of grime. 

“How bad does it look?” Poe asks.

“You may scar,” she confesses, giving the wound one last clean before she’s reaching for the bandages. “But it does not need to be sewn up. If you were to fall against the cobblestones and cut your head, I would say you managed to do it quite well.” 

“Scars can be dashing,” Poe replies.

“Yes, they can be,” Rey says with a smile, guiding the bandage around his head. There is a paste she knows some of the physicians use that can be dissolved with water, a paste they use around the edge of the bandages to keep it from moving. But she makes due with what she has, wrapping the cloth around his head and applying a bit of pressure to help stop the bleeding. “Does it hurt badly?” 

“I won’t lie and say it feels pleasurable,” Poe says. “But it’s not excruciating.”

“Good.” She runs her hand through his hair, trying to be comforting before she pulls away. A young man comes with a steaming bowl of stew for Poe, setting it down as soon as Rey returns to her own seat. “I'll see to some pain ointment for your knuckles, and then we'll bandage them. Eat, for now. You’ve earned it."

“Did he though?”

“Hux,” Kylo says, tone dark. 

Poe’s already tucking into his stew, and Kylo has his gaze focused on his wine glass as he reaches for it. But Rey can see it, can see the way Hux’s expression softens ever so slightly. Not in shame, no, he doesn’t look like a pup who got caught. No, he looks almost worried as he watches Poe. And then he meets Rey’s gaze, and the expression is gone. He returns to his normal expression of ‘stick up ass’ so quickly Rey has to wonder if she saw the worried look at all.

“Rey.”

“Hm?” she asks, turning to her husband. He’s cradling his wine glass, the crystal glinting in the candlelight of the dining room as he looks at her curiously. “Yes, what is it?”

“You were saying you had an idea, before we were interrupted.”

“Oh.” Yes, she did, didn’t she? She notices Hux looking at her, but Poe’s taking care to eat so as not to disturb his wounds. “I don’t know what you will think of it.”

“I would like to hear it anyways,” he insists.

“Well,” she starts. “We’ve spoken about how to best go about the concern of fair wages. We need to meet with the leaders. It would make a poor impression to simply send someone in our stead, when the truth of the matter is we should go ourselves. However, with the pressure of the elite and the faith of our people riding on our shoulders, I’ve thought about a solution. It would cost a bit, but no more than sending people or going ourselves would cost, between the transport and food and clothes required…”

“And what is it you’re suggesting as a solution?” Hux asks. She tries not to read too much into his voice. He always sounds skeptical about everything. 

“A dinner,” Rey explains, looking back to Kylo. “And perhaps a luncheon, or something of that sort. And meetings, many meetings. Three days. Three days where all of the leaders come to us, as well as the elite. It will allow for you to meet everyone of significance you will be ruling over, as well as allow you to make the best impression possible. If we spend a good bit of coin on good wine, slip ups will be forgiven more easily. And at the same time we can consider our enemies, and perhaps see if we have any allies among the elite.”

“Keep your enemies close,” Poe replies.

“Exactly,” Rey replies, nodding to the second in command. “I’m not suggesting something extraordinarily lavish like Snoke would have given. That would have the opposite effect, pleasing the elite but giving our people the impression that we’re careless with coin. But dinner and some dancing, a luncheon in the gardens perhaps. Spend the coin and time on good food, good music. It would be worth it to perhaps not make allies, but at the very least make no more enemies.”

“How long would we have to prepare?” Kylo asks.

“The farthest reaches of the empire would take two weeks to reach, if I’m remembering correctly. I could be wrong,” Rey offers. “Of course, we would have to write invitations, or send someone. Which will take more time. I say a month of preparation.”

“It’s a good idea,” Poe replies, looking between the other two men. Hux says nothing, but he’s not scowling, and so Rey takes that as a good sign. Kylo looks thoughtful.

“It’s certainly not a bad one,” the emperor says. “I don’t know how to plan such a thing, though.”

“Nor do I,” Rey replies. “But I can do my best.”

“I have no doubt that you will.” There’s just a bit of warmth in her husband’s voice, enough to make her smile as she reaches for her wine. “We’ll find a list of the leaders in each city and province.”

“Aye, and we’ll send invitations.”

“Your handwriting is better than mine. Your tone of voice, too.”

“Then I’ll write them.” 

“I would be grateful.”

The sound of slurping interrupts the two royals, and they both look to Poe, who has his porcelain bowl to his lips. He stops as soon as he’s caught, staring between the two. “… my apologies,” he says, his voice gruff. “I haven’t eaten.”

“And whose fault is that?” Hux asks. 

“Oh, come off it, at least you’re not in pain." 

“Again, whose fault is that?”

Rey smirks into her stew, enjoying the warmth of witty conversation. It certainly is better than the awkward conversations she would have at Snoke’s table, when she had them at all. It’s pleasant, truly, to listen to people she truly knows and cares about. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Kylo continuing to eat his meal. But there’s a quirk to his lips, and she’s further comforted as she listens to the two men continue their banter.

✥

The moon is high in the sky and the stars bright when there’s a knock upon her door.

It’s not her husband, no, it’s the wrong door for that. She moves from the balcony, her skin chilled by the evening breeze, to open the door to her bedroom. She’d expected Finn, maybe Rose, but instead she sees Poe, a fresh bandage pasted to his skin and his smile sheepish.

“Forgive me, I know it’s late. I was wondering if I could speak with you?” he asks. There’s something to his voice that she’s never heard before. Something choked, almost. Emotional.

“Of course, come in. Should I call for tea?” Rey asks, stepping aside so that the man can enter.

“No, no, it won’t take that long,” he insists. “You look lovely, by the way.”

“You caught me just before I went to bed,” she replies with a good-natured scoff.

Poe stops halfway between sitting and standing on the navy blue velvet settee, his eyes wide as he looks up at her. “I can go?”

“No, no, you’re already here,” Rey insists, moving to sit in the chair opposite him. It’s not like him to be so hesitant, to be so … un-Poe-like. It’s like something sucked all of the confidence out of him. Not the charm, no, the charm remains in the wave of his hair and the soft smile he gives her as he settles into the settee. But his posture is stiff. It’s a stark contrast to the way she sees him lounge like a cat across chairs and sofas, never sitting in it the way one should. “Can I help you with something?”

“You already have.” It comes out in a nervous breath, and Rey raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “I already spoke to … to Kylo about this. I have already thanked him. And I know it was not your idea, but you wrote the decree. It was your words that came out of his mouth today. And I would like to thank you.” 

“I didn’t know you heard it,” Rey says quietly. 

“I didn’t. Not the public one. But I had him read it to me.” He’s so often loud and brash that to hear him speak lowly is strange. He has a very nice voice, warm and gentle with that same rumble that her husband has, that Finn has. It’s comforting. “And I needed to thank you.” 

“Your thanks is acknowledged, but not necessary-“

“No,” Poe insists. She can see the moment his eyes start to fill with tears, the moment that they shine in the low light of her room. “Thank you. It did not truly occur to me until he read it that it was real.” 

“It is real,” Rey promises. “It is very real.” 

Poe’s reaction surprises her. He starts to laugh. He starts to laugh so hard he doubles over, laughs so hard she can’t tell whether the tears are from laughing or from sadness or something else entirely. She wonders if she should help, scooting forward to the edge of her chair and reaching for him. 

“It’s strange,” Poe says. He’s breathless, his words barely audible. “To think that I can marry freely now. To love freely is different, you know. But this …” He inhales. It’s shaky. She can practically hear the breath rattling in his lungs. “You are aware of what it means, of that I have no doubt. It means that we are seen as legitimate. People like me. Who love too much and too often and too freely—” 

“There is no ‘too’,” Rey insists. Her voice comes out harder than she’d meant for it to, and he looks up. The firelight shines off of the tears running down his cheeks. “You love often, and you love freely. That is all there is to it.” 

“Forgive me, I’m a mess,” Poe says with a light, forced laugh. He reaches up to wipe his tears away, and Rey stands, crossing to grab a handkerchief from a drawer before she returns to his side. She rests her hand on his shoulder as he dabs his face, still smiling all the while. “I didn’t realize how much it meant to me, I guess.”

This is not the Poe she knows. This is not the Poe who made jokes about exhibitionism on her balcony, this is not the Poe who bantered with Hux at dinner, this is not the Poe who obeyed her orders when she threw that damned wine bottle at the wall, and who merely cleaned up her mess and said nothing more. This isn’t even the Poe who promised her nothing of her coronation would remind her of Snoke, aside from the necessary similarities. 

This is an entirely different man, and she is glad to know him, too, she thinks.

His lips are soft against her knuckles, her skin becoming damp with his tears. He clings to her fingers, so tightly she can almost feel the bones grinding together, but she says nothing as her hand rubs comforting circles against his shoulder. She’s not terribly familiar with comfort, but she can recall her mother doing this when she was young, can recall Finn doing it when she fell ill. She remembers enjoying it, the way the warmth of their hand spread through her veins and stopped her chest from rattling so much.

He keeps his lips pressed to her hand for a long while. When he goes, it’s with one more kiss, this one chaste and accompanied by that charming smile she’s come to associate with the warmth of his presence.

“Thank you,” he says, one last time.

She kisses his knuckles, bruised and bloodied, no doubt from his altercation earlier that day. She kisses them because it feels wrong to say “you’re welcome,” it feels wrong to say “it’s not necessary.” She can’t figure out how to say, “This never should have happened, it should have been this way from the beginning, you should have always felt legitimate and you should have never been made to feel less for loving more.”

She doesn’t say that. The words don’t come, her own emotions choking her.

She hopes he understands what she means to say as she pulls away.

His soft, genuine, parting smile confirms he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two different stories, two updates with Poe crying? What can I say, I love breaking him because I just love him. 
> 
> I've noticed some people concerned about Poe's closeness to Rey in past chapters, and wanted to just put a little note. I do not like writing jealousy, or infidelity, or love triangles, and do not like to make them a focus in my stories. If those themes do occur, they are either incredibly brief and not really significant to the story, or in the past. None of them will EVER play a major role in any of my stories.
> 
> I wholeheartedly believe that a friendship can be intimate without any romance involved, and that such friendships are beautiful and should be written and shown more often. 
> 
> I love writing Poe, and love the potential he has with Rey and Ben in terms of deep, loving friendship. But if you're worried about him coming between them, don't. This story is Rey/Kylo, and that will not change.
> 
> If I do decide to explore a more romantic dynamic (as I did with Satan Wears A Rolex and Reylux), it will be a separate work people can read if they want to, but will not affect this story in the slightest and can be entirely avoided.
> 
> TL;DR: I like writing Poe and his friendships with Rey and Kylo, but he's not going to get in the way between them, so don't worry about that. Like you, he's silently cheering for them to get on with it already.


	18. XVIII.

This is a terrible idea.

Not the dinner itself, no. She stands by the idea of having everyone of importance come to them so that they can make the best impression possible and make good on some of the promises they’ve made to their people. No, the idea at its root is good.

It’s the fact that she’s in charge of planning the event that she’s regretting.

She never had a part in planning anything of Snoke’s. Even her wedding and coronation she had no part in. Her lack of input regarding her second marriage and coronation she can accept, because the truth of the matter is she would have had no specific opinions and even if she had she would have been adding one more voice to the chorus of chaos. She told Poe what she didn’t want, this is true, but if given the choice between cranberry or maroon for the carpet in the front hall she wouldn’t have given a damn. They could have used chartreuse for all she cared.

When she’d asked Poe and Hux about the coronation and how it was planned, Poe’s eyes had grown wide and he’d puffed his cheeks out, letting the air out slowly the way one does when something was big. And exhausting. And overwhelmingly hectic. According to him, it was all hands-on deck regarding everything. There was no cohesiveness – yes, she’d seen that in the way they used different plates, bowls, napkins, goblets in order to accommodate all who were eating with them. And the coronation was fine, it was lovely and wonderful and so far removed from anything Snoke would have come up with that it was the perfect coronation for a new emperor.

This … whatever it is, however, must mix the two. The old, and the new.

Too much new, and they risk offending those they can’t afford to offend. The leaders of the provinces and cities and capitals who have access to needed information, and the elite who still have enough coin to help the people of the empire.

Too much old, and they risk offending the people who are relying on them, who have faith in them to change the tides and bring forth new hope.

It’s an incredibly, dangerously delicate balance that they can’t afford to get wrong.

She is entirely unsurprised to know that Snoke’s planner headed for the hills the day Kylo Ren took the throne. A spineless, fanciful man, he didn’t live in the palace, but in the city. When she inquired as to his whereabouts, she received shrugs before it was confirmed that his lavish, expensive apartments are now empty, every swath of gold brocade abandoned and every ruby red tassel left behind.

Not that she would have used him, considering his overwhelmingly opulent style and his disdain towards her. Still, it would have been nice to ask him some things.

Like what the difference is between bone, cream, and ivory napkins, and what the significance behind the colors is, if there is any at all.

Her lack of knowledge on anything regarding planning or color or decoration is why Rey’s currently in the library, staring down at accounts of past meetings and dinners thanks to one very knowledgeable archivist who knew where receipts and orders were kept.

“How is it?”

“Torture,” Rey mutters, looking up at Poe. “It’s incredibly difficult to discern whether things were done because of a style, or because of a tradition, or because it’s simply the way it’s done. Do you know the difference between bone, cream, and ivory?”

“Regretfully no,” Poe replies. He sets a tray down in front of her, and Rey almost moans when she sees the steaming pot of tea, the bowl of sugar, the little pitcher of cream, and the generous plates of pastries and sandwiches. “I assumed you were hungry.”

“May the Gods bless your soul for all eternity,” Rey breathes. She hears Poe chuckle as she reaches for a sandwich. She hums as she bites the corner off, looking back down at the order for napkins and tablecloths and for the silver to be polished. “I need to find a list of the leaders of each capital, each city, each province. The elite is not difficult. I can go through the guest list of past galas and balls. The leaders are a bit harder to track down given how many of them there are.”

“I do not envy you right now,” Poe confesses.

Rey shoots him a dirty look, before she sighs and reaches up to run her hand through her hair. Most days she pins it back in a bun, but the headache that is this process doesn’t need to be made any worse from pins digging into her scalp. Her hair tickles her bare shoulders, the neckline of her gown much more open and forgiving than the ones Snoke gave her. Sighing again, she hears the sound of liquid pouring into a porcelain cup, and turns to see Poe pouring her a cup of tea. “Thank you.”

“I would offer my assistance, but I don’t think I’d be very helpful,” Poe replies regretfully. He puts a dash of cream and two sugars in before passing her the cup and a spoon. “The only event I helped well and truly plan was a funeral.”

“I am sorry for your loss, if it is a loss to be sorry for,” Rey says. She takes the cup and stirs it, steam rising from the golden liquid as she looks back down at the papers. “There are just so many things to consider. It’s not simply telling Maz how many people we are to have and how to feed them. It’s finding how much food and drink we need, it’s finding napkins and chairs and tables, it’s arranging rooms… I very much appreciate your collective efforts regarding the coronation.”

“It wasn’t that much effort on my part,” Poe explains, sitting gingerly on the cherry wood table. He braces his hand in the center, leaning back a bit as he looks down at the pile of papers she’s wading through. “Your orders were simple. Do nothing Snoke had unless it was absolutely necessary. Thankfully, it was incredibly easy to do the exact opposite of Snoke.”

She’s not surprised. Snoke was about impressing, about effort, about showing off. Of course it took time to plan. And a lot more people than just one clueless woman. “You could help by inquiring as to a list of the leaders?” Rey asks, her chest tight as she moves to rest her head in her hands. “That would be helpful, at least know how many we are to expect…”

“I’ll ask.”

“Thank you,” Rey breathes, stirring her tea to make sure the sugar has dissolved before she reaches for the cup. It burns her mouth a bit, but the taste and sweetness is completely worth the bit of pain. “And thank you, for this.”

“It was my pleasure.”

There’s something in his voice. It’s not pity, no. Perhaps sympathy. Something warm and a little sad as he stands and leaves her to her work.

“Oh, wonderful,” Rey mutters sarcastically, skimming an order to some seamstress and finding yet another color to add to her confusion. “Alabaster. Just wonderful.”

✥

“Could I steal your attention for a moment?”

Her husband is dressed in darkness, rich brown and deep blacks making him look even paler than he already is. But he is beaming, eagerly awaiting her answer.

“Gods, gladly,” Rey groans, standing immediately from the table. “Please, I beg of you, take my mind away from the difference between jade and emerald, maroon and burgundy, cream and ivory.”

“Are such colors important to these meetings?” Kylo asks, frowning as she dusts her dress of pastry flakes before joining him at his side.

“Hell if I know,” Rey replies. “Which is why I’m attempting to read all I can in case someone is offended by turquoise.”

His smile is slight. It’s awkward, but then again she believes she can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen him smile genuinely. He turns, and she follows, grateful to leave the library behind. As beautiful as it is, to be surrounded by thousands and thousands of books is not exactly comforting when she already has so much information to wade through.

“I have something for you,” he says as they walk.

“I hope it’s something useful,” Rey replies. She hopes she doesn’t come off as rude, but it’s the truth. She would much prefer the gift of a full list of the leaders in all of the provinces and cities than the gift of a sparkling brooch or flowers.

“I would consider it as such, yes,” he replies. There’s something light in his voice, and when she looks up at him, seeing that that little awkward smile has grown just a bit wider.

“I don’t suppose it’s a compiled list of the elite, or the leaders I am supposed to invite?” Rey asks, daring to hope.

“Regretfully, no. But I do believe it will be of use to you as you continue your work to make this event possible.”

“A pot that makes endless cups of tea?” It’s teasing, but for a moment she can see him genuinely panic before his shoulders relax once more. “I’m only joking.”

“It wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve heard of,” he admits.

Rey hums. No, Snoke’s made requests much grander and more fantastical than that. She looks up at the grand office door as they approach. “If you did find useful paperwork, I will be delighted.”

“Not yet, no, but I’ll let you know if I do find things of use. I do hope you’ll be happy otherwise,” Kylo Ren says as he opens the door for her.

She sees it before she sees anything else. It’s just to the side of his desk, turned perpendicular to his. They have their own space, and she can speak to him if needed.

It looks absolutely nothing like Snoke’s desk. Snoke’s is intricately carved, with dozens of little details. So many one could get lost just trying to look at it all. This desk is different. While there are a few decorative elements, carved vines wrapping up the rounded corners of it and some florals carved into the sides, the main decoration is the wood itself. It curls and knots and gleams, polished to show off the pattern of the grain. There is no forced beauty here, not like Snoke’s desk. Instead, it shows off the natural beauty of the material.

It’s perfect.

“What is this?” Rey demands, stopping and staring at the beautiful desk. There’s a matching chair, the pale grey-blue velvet of the seat cushions reminding her of the sea she loves so dearly.

“A desk,” Kylo Ren says simply. “Your desk.”

“My desk,” she repeats, the words falling from her lips but not truly being heard. “My desk.”

“I hoped you would work alongside me,” he replies. “If it’s not to your liking—”

“No,” Rey insists perhaps too quickly. “No, no, it’s beautiful, I just…”

Her desk in her room is a small thing, barely big enough to write letters upon. It’s incredibly telling of Snoke’s opinions regarding her writing and working, more of a decorative piece than anything else. This… this is a desk for working. This is a desk for editing his decrees and writing announcements and working on the dinner plans. This is a desk for an empress who will be working just as hard as her emperor, and this is a desk he had made for her. This is not just moving the other one into the main office, no. This is personalized. This is specifically for her.

Tears sting her eyes as she stares at the beautiful and significant piece of furniture. “Go on,” Kylo Ren says, and she finds herself obeying, stepping forward to touch the gorgeous wood. Snoke preferred to stain everything he owned dark, and then polish it, rather than accentuate the natural pattern of the wood. She much prefers the more natural look, her fingers brushing against a beautiful swirling knot before she touches the carved ivy.

“It’s stunning,” she breathes, aware of him coming closer to her.

“If you prefer more decoration—”

“I’ve lived the past four years of my life as a decoration, I have no wish for any more,” she insists. “I love it.”

“I’m glad.” It’s a sigh, almost. He sounds relieved, and she turns and looks at him, offering a smile.

“I would have been happy if it had been painted buttercup yellow,” she teases. “It is the meaning behind you commissioning a desk for me that is appreciated. That being said, it’s absolutely beautiful, and I look forward to writing on it.”

His smile is a bit more genuine, less awkward than the ones he gave her before he’d revealed the desk. “I look forward to reading what you write on it.”

Her own smile remains, soft and easy as someone knocks on the office door. Before she can form the words herself, Kylo is calling, “Come in,” and the great wooden door is opening to reveal Kaydel with a stack of papers. It seems as though the new style of dress has made its way to other women, Kaydel’s pale brown gown covered by a structured deep olive jacket, the neckline square and bottom of it stopping at her mid-ribs. Rey makes a note to ask Amilyn if such a style can be made for her, the shape reminding her of the guards’ uniforms but cut shorter.

“I neglected to mention another gift of sorts,” Kylo says, watching as Kaydel steps closer. Rey looks between the two, her gaze shifting between her husband, his advisor, and the stacks of paper in the woman’s hands. "I may have tricked you slightly, I ask for your forgiveness."

“I have enough work as it is-“ Rey tries.

“This is a list of all the elite you so mentioned, taken from some of Snoke’s correspondence with them,” Kaydel interrupts, presenting her with the papers. “There is also a list of the leaders for each city and province, as requested.”

“I told you I regretfully did not have one,” Kylo explains. “And that is because Kaydel is the one who had it.”

The young woman smiles at Rey, and the empress thinks she may damn well cry as she reaches for the papers. A little laugh leaves her lips as she looks down at names she somewhat recognizes, but wouldn’t have been able to recall even if someone had put a blade to her breast. “And there I was, researching napkin colors—”

“This was simple work,” Kaydel insists. “It is the decisions you have to make regarding the dinner that are more difficult. It was the least I could do if it relieved the weight on your shoulders.”

“May the Gods bless you,” Rey breathes, grinning at the other woman as she clutches the papers to her chest. “Do you have any experience in planning these sorts of things?”

“Unfortunately, no. But I will assist you in any way I can.”

“You’ve already helped me greatly, and eased much of my burden,” Rey confesses, turning and walking to her desk – _her desk!_ – to set the papers down. “No doubt some of these men have fled the empire after the news, or perhaps have since passed—”

“Then the letters will go to whoever replaced them,” Kylo replies as Kaydel follows her over.

Rey sighs, running her hand through her hair in a vain attempt to ease the headache she’s had for hours, now. Though this list is wonderful, the pressure of presenting the event still remains. “We will have to work with what we have.”

“It’s all we can do,” Kaydel assures her, and Rey smiles, grateful for the woman.

“Perhaps some drafts first,” the empress says, looking towards Kylo. “The sooner we write invitations, the sooner they will arrive, and the sooner we will be able to fulfill more of our promises to our people. I will ask them to bring information regarding population, wages, the number of children, what is needed most, whatever could be useful.”

“Agreed,” Kylo says. “The sooner the better.”

“We will need a seal,” Rey informs him. “That symbol from the coronation, the R with the sword. I would like it as a seal.”

“I’ll inquire into one,” he promises.

“Thank you,” she breathes. She looks back to Kaydel, the wonderful woman already going into one of the drawers of her desk to fetch some plain parchment.

There will be ink and parchment and time wasted, no doubt, in this endeavor. But Gods, she hopes it will be worth it.

✥

There are small changes between the provinces. The elite invitation is the same throughout, inviting those who supported the late emperor to join in the celebration of a new age of prosperity, peace, and progress. She has her doubts as to who will reply, and even more as to who will attend, but it’s worth a try, at the very least.

The provinces are more specific. She asks about information regarding population and wages, and asks them to specifically come with a list of what is needed. Wells, orphanages, libraries, shelters, schools, construction materials for said structures, whatever the provinces and cities may need. The elite invitation is one page, but the invitations for the leaders often go onto two. It’s vital information, after all. Vital to the happiness and faith of their people.

And the Gods know they need all the happiness and faith they can get.

“Shit!”

Her hand cramps, and she presses just a little too hard to the paper with her quill, the ink splattering with the force. She hisses, pulling her hand away and leaving the quill to ruin the parchment even more. Kaydel grabs the quill, setting it in its golden holder as Rey rubs at her hand.

“I think it’s time we called our work done for the evening,” Kaydel offers, looking to the pile of invitations Rey’s already written. “You’ve done plenty.”

“I suppose,” Rey mutters, looking down at the ruined invitation. Thankfully she didn’t get too far, into the third line when something in her hand twisted and blinded her with pain. “I don’t think I can write much more, anyways.”

“I would offer to write, but-“ Kaydel starts.

“No,” Rey sighs, shaking her head. “Thank you, though. I would prefer to do this myself, if you do not care too terribly. It would look lazy if we had two sets of handwriting.”

“No offense at all,” Kaydel reassures her. “It will make no difference between today and tomorrow anyways, the seal needs to be made.”

Yes, that’s right, the seal does need to be made. And there is the wax color to consider. She’ll ask Kylo about that and hope beyond hope that the color they choose has no hidden meaning she’s unaware to. Kaydel continued to read into the old correspondences and receipts, finding even more variations of yellow-white napkins and tablecloths. They’ll have to inquire as to whether any of them had been saved in storage, but Rey’s damn near certain everyone who would know has already gone to bed. The moon is high, silver pouring in from the windows as Kaydel straightens the stack of finished, dried invitations.

“Thank you,” Rey says, watching as the young woman stops, straightening to look at the empress. “For your assistance.”

“You’re helping our people,” Kaydel replies. “And so I am glad to help you.” Her smile is small, her hair in a braided crown atop her head. It’s lovely, truly, but Rey knows her own hair is too short for such a style. Still, the braids remind her of the women in Jakku, their hair in braids and buns to keep it off of their necks under the scorching sun.

“Still, I thank you. Please, do rest. We’ll continue in the morning.”

Kaydel gives a little curtsy, a very casual gesture that Rey appreciates much more than the deep, almost mocking curtsies the wives of the elite gave her during her time as Snoke’s wife. She smiles, watching the woman go before she looks down at the ruined invitation once more.

_Esteemed leader, we would be honored and delig_

Sighing, she stands. Her hips and lower back ache. Hell, if she’s honest, everything aches. But her shoulders and hips ache the most, and her hand is damn near in agony as she stands from the desk. For what it’s worth, though, the chair is incredibly comfortable. It’s just the fact that she’s been sitting for the past several hours as the sun sank lower and lower behind the buildings of the capital that caused her aches.

That, and writing about twenty invitations, some of them two pages long.

The halls are quiet as she walks back to her rooms, a young guard lingering behind her. Her right hand still aches awfully, the muscles tight and tense even as she stretches her fingers over and over again. Her left hand cramps when she tries to massage her right, so overall trying to relieve the pain is useless endeavor.

Or, at the very least, trying to relieve it _herself _is a useless endeavor.

There is still light under their shared door when she knocks, having bathed and oiled her skin and dressed for bed. There was part of her almost hoping he would have gone to bed, so that she would have had an excuse not to ask him for this. But she finds herself grateful that he’s still awake as she cradles her hand, the pain only slightly better than it was before.

“Enter.”

She uses her better hand to open the door, the golden handle cool beneath her palm. When she enters, she sees him already in bed, the fire roaring and the little oil lamp beside him lit. Though he looks ready for bed in his night tunic, there are books across his thighs and papers on the bed beside him, spread out like fallen leaves around his legs.

“Forgive me, don’t get up if it will disturb-“ she starts, but it’s too late. He’s already shifting the papers, the books off of him, pulling the linens back so that he may stand and greet her.

“They had no order to begin with,” he assures her as he approaches. His gaze falls to her hand, and the way she’s cradling it against her chest. “Are you hurt?” It’s hard, a demand as he looks back up to her face.

“I should have taken a break,” she insists. “It’s nothing anyone else did. I wrote too long and too much.” So there’s the explanation, and now comes the request. Her cheeks feel hot, her chest a little tight as she looks down at her hand. “You did it yesterday, I was wondering-“

“Of course.” It’s said quickly. “How many did you write?”

“About twenty,” she explains as he goes to his own vanity. His is simpler than hers, a few bottles she doesn’t recognize as Snoke’s on the wooden top. There are far less, though, that’s for certain. She remembers staring at the vanity the nights she was told to stay, her eyes tracing the contours of each bottle, counting each color, each top, reading each label as best as she could from afar—

“I have rose oil, if that’s suitable?”

“If you think it would help,” Rey replies, her eyes moving from the bottles back to his broad shoulders. The tunic is thin and soft-looking. She can see moles scattered across the pale expanse of his back, making their own sort of constellation on his skin. He turns before she can get a better look, a small amount of oil in his hand as he returns to her.

His hand is warm, just like before, and he cradles hers with the gentlest of touches. She hisses a little as he presses on something tight, and he looks to her, stopping the movement immediately.

“No,” she insists. “No, keep going. It’s a good pain, isn’t it? It means it’s working?”

The emperor nods, looking back down at her hand. He starts with the palm, first, his thumb pressing into the meat of hers. Immediately there’s pain, and a whimper escapes her as he continues to press down. He stops again.

“Keep going.” It’s a whisper, as she watches him. He has ink in between his nail and his cuticle. She wonders if her hands are as stained as his. “It’s all right, just … just keep going.”

He does as asked. He continues to press into her palm, seeming to know just where it hurts and pressing into those spots even harder. It helps, though. The slide of his skin against hers, the pressure of his thumb, the warmth of his hand. Gods, his hand… It’s so big compared to hers. She watches him as he turns her hand around, starting to massage between her fingers and—

“Shit,” she breathes.

“What?” he demands.

“Nothing, it just … it feels good, that’s all,” she insists, because it does. It really, really does. The pressure to her thumb was painful, but his forefinger and thumb sliding between her fingers feels incredible. Though it was awkward to ask him, she’s glad she did. There is no need to take tonics to help with the pain, not when he’s working every bit of tension from her.

“What else hurts?” he asks, his voice just barely above a whisper and making her entire being rumble pleasantly.

“My back, and shoulders, but those can be eased with a hot cloth and rest.”

“I can assist with those, as well.”

“I thank you for the offer,” she says, hoping that her bowed head hides her blush. “I’ll see how they are tomorrow, and if they are not better in the morn, I’ll seek your help.”

“I will have oil ready.”

There’s something in his voice. A roughness that she’s heard a few times before, but it never fails to make her flush. She breathes deeply, trying to calm her fluttering heart as he continues to rub at her hand, making sure every inch is rubbed and soothed. It does feel better, truly.

“Thank you,” she whispers. It’s a quiet suggestion of _that’s enough_. He gives one more stroke between her forefinger and her thumb before he’s lifting her hand to his lips.

“No, I thank you,” he mutters, the words and his breath hot against her fingertips. “I would have no clue how to write such invitations.”

“If I’m entirely truthful, I don’t know if I have a clue, either. I can only hope I don’t offend someone beyond repair,” she says with a soft, nervous laugh.

“I can’t imagine you will. But if you do, we will figure something out,” her husband insists.

It’s so sure. So optimistic, just like the rest of him and his ideals. She looks up at him, her hand still cradled in both of his, and she’s struck by the realization that she doesn’t want him to let go. No, there is warmth in his words and in his touch, and she doesn’t want to leave, not quite yet.

Her body has different ideas, though, the rest of her aching and her eyes beginning to feel heavy.

“Goodnight.” Her voice is soft. They’re so close she only needs to whisper, staring up into those amber eyes.

"Goodnight, Rey."

He lets go of her. Her hand is warm and loose and smooth, smelling of rose oil. Snoke’s rose oil was pungent, too strong for her taste. This is gentle, the oil of the rose mixed with something more neutral in scent. She rubs her hands together on the way back to her room, spreading the oil to her other hand, before she’s pressing her palm to the silk of her pillow. Will the oil stain? Perhaps.

But at least she will smell roses tonight.


	19. XIX.

She is a marvel, truly.

She’s there before him in the morning, her fingers already somewhat stained with ink. The soft, tired smile she gives him is the best start to his day, even as he watches her set her quill aside to rub at her hand. His offer to help her again is declined with another, brighter smile, and a teasing, “When I’m finished, yes. It makes no sense to do so every five or so invitations, it would take all day.”

He damn near says he wouldn’t mind if it took all day, but she’s already reaching for the quill and mouthing letters to herself, and so he settles at his desk instead.

He doesn’t get as much work done as he’d hoped. It will be wonderful, he knows, when they are truly working together, to have their desks in the same room. He can ask for her opinion on wording, on what the elite will tolerate without brandishing their jeweled swords, on what would make financial sense for the empire. She can … ask for anything she needs of him, truly. But now, working separately, to have her desk both so near and so far is absolute torture.

Her hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She bites her lip as she concentrates on something. The soft feather tip of her quill is tapped against her lower lip and Gods save him, the way she moves every so often, groaning lowly and arching her back to relieve her tense muscles—

“Have you eaten?”

Such a mundane question, yes, but it means that he will be focused on the mundane answer instead of the curve of her neck where a curl of dark brown hair is tickling her shoulder.

Rey looks up at him, staring at him for a few heartbeats before her cheeks turn pink. “No, not yet.”

It’s almost eleven. “I can go get lunch?” he offers.

“That would be wonderful.” It’s almost a pleased sigh as she offers him a smile. “I didn’t want to eat anything in fear of getting butter or sauce on the invitations.”

Logical. To have a spot of grease or jam on an elite’s invitation… if she’s worried about napkin colors, a sloppy piece of parchment would mean their doom. “I’ll speak with Maz. Anything you want in particular?”

“Something with chocolate,” is the immediate answer, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“For dessert, perhaps, but not for lunch.”

“I have no preference for lunch itself. I just want chocolate in some form to be brought with it,” Rey says matter-of-factly in the way he’s become so familiar with. Ben has to bite his lip to keep from smiling, and he nods before he leaves the office.

The hallway doesn’t smell of her perfume and leather and parchment, and for that he’s incredibly grateful. The three scents combined is a delicious and quite frankly distracting combination, and he breathes deeply as he makes his way to the main stairway. He brushes his hand against the cool marble, grounding himself before he sees a shift and hears a laugh.

Finn and the short woman Rey’s friends with are walking together. Lily? Violet? No, Rose, that’s right. He hasn’t spoken to her much at all, just recognizes her face if he’s entirely honest. It’s overwhelming to learn all of the faces of the palace, let alone the names attached to them combined with everything else he has in his head. He’s trying his best, of course, and is grateful that most people seem to understand he has a lot on his mind.

She laughs again, and the sound echoes along the marble pillars, bouncing upwards towards the ceiling. It’s a nice sound, a happy sound. He likes hearing it as he watches the two continue their walk together, disappearing through an archway and making their way further into the palace. The hall seems so empty without their footsteps and Rose’s giggles.

“Is there a reason you’re standing at the top of the stairs like a lady about to be received by her gentleman friend?”

Ben looks over his shoulder, seeing Hux standing and watching him curiously, one copper brow raised. “Our newest general and the girl Rose were having a private moment,” Ben explains. “I didn’t want to intrude or startle them.”

“I see.” Ben starts to walk down the stairs, and Hux steps in beside him. “Where have you been all morning?”

“Working,” Ben replies. “Drafting more decrees. The sooner I get them out of my head and onto parchment, the better. At the very least Rey can then look over them and offer her guidance.”

“You’re looking to her often these days.”

“Of course I am,” Ben replies. “She knows what will be best for all of our people, not just the ones who have been wrongly snubbed or hurt by Snoke. She’s right. We neglected to consider those he counted as allies. While I do not want to associate myself with them as he did, it would be ignorant to dismiss them. Especially when they have the power and the coin to potentially be of help to the communities Snoke hurt.”

“I’m concerned with her insistence that the elite should be respected instead of cast out entirely,” Hux protests. Ben glances over to his long-time friend and general, seeing that the man’s shoulders are tight and his hands are behind his back. Proud. Defiant.

“I’m more concerned with the fact that we didn’t consider them the threat that they are,” Ben replies simply as they approach the stairway to the kitchen. “We’ll continue this discussion later. She hasn’t eaten anything today, and I intend to fix that.”

Hux hums, taking his leave almost as quickly as he’d appeared. Ben watches him go, spine straight and shoulders taut. Always on edge. Always alert. A great mind and a great general, yes, as well as a great man, but full of great warmth he is not.

It’s a wonder why Poe’s drawn to him, Ben has to wonder as he makes to step down into the kitchen, already hearing Maz’s shouted orders from the top of the stairway.

✥

When he returns, Kaydel is perched on the edge of Rey’s desk, watching the empress as she finishes yet another invitation. The young woman looks up at him, seeing the small platter in his hand and smirking.

“You have a surprise,” Kaydel teases, prompting Rey to look up and see the small glass of chocolate cream and the long spoon accompanying it.

“It’s not so much of a surprise if I asked for it, but it’s still greatly appreciated,” Rey breathes, reaching for the glass as Ben lowers his hand to let her take it. “But what about lunch?”

Ben smiles slightly as she takes the spoon, scooping the swirled top of the cream and slipping it between her lips. “Proper food is coming,” he promises. “I was under strict orders to give you this first.”

“Maz?” Rey asks, her lips smeared with dark chocolate.

“Maz,” Ben confirms, setting the platter aside before going to his own desk. “How many more of those damned things do you have to write?”

“Just four,” Rey replies. She takes one more bite of the creamy mousse before she’s pushing the glass aside in favor of finishing the paragraph she was on. Ben can see the black ink from his desk, though he can’t read what it says. “Almost finished with this one.”

The seal will be done by tomorrow. And then, of course, there is the matter of the wax color, but he’s more than sure that Snoke had some sealing wax around somewhere. There was some in his desk, a deep and terrifyingly accurate blood red, but they won’t use that. No, they’ll use something else. Something a little less sinister.

Something a little more … hopeful.

But not yellow. He hates yellow.

Except when it’s on her.

✥

“You wanted to see me?”

He’s never been with Finn alone. They’ve always been in the company of Hux, and Poe, or Rey. Ben nods at Finn. “Yes, I did.”

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, and no,” Ben replies, gesturing to the ochre-colored wing-backed chair facing his own. “Please sit.”

The general does as asked. He’s dressed down today, simple navy trousers and a simple cream tunic complimenting his dark skin. The man is intense. In his gaze, in the clench of his jaw, in his presence. It’s an energy that Ben can appreciate. The want to help, the want to do something more. Yes, he appreciates, and respects that energy. That’s why he made Finn a general.

“No doubt you know of Rey’s plan regarding inviting all of the province and city leaders to the palace, as well as the elite,” Ben explains. “I want to know your thoughts on it. Have you met these men?”

“Met, no. Interacted with, perhaps a few. But I’ve seen them, and I know their type,” Finn replies, settling into the chair. He frowns. “I don’t think we’ll be gaining any friends by inviting them.”

“No, I don’t suppose so,” Ben says. “What are they like?”

“Arrogant,” Finn replies immediately. “Pompous. Full of themselves. I could buy a manor in the countryside if I took one of their rings and their coat, or just one of their canes.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Stupid amounts of wealth that could be going to so much more.”

“You’re angry,” Ben notes.

“Of course I’m angry,” Finn snaps. “I knew their servants, their guards. I heard stories I never, ever want to be heard repeated. They abuse their people. If they cannot reach out and hurt them physically, they punish them in other ways. Denying them food, water, working them through the night without rest. And those are just those within those walls. Those who are on their land… I don’t even want to consider it.”

No, Ben doesn’t either. He regards the man carefully, watching him as Finn looks to the fire. His jaw is clenched, the muscles tight and his profile tense as he stares at the flames. “If I were to make my decision,” he says, finding his own voice low and gruff with anger. “Their fate would be the same as Snoke’s.”

“I would offer my blade,” Finn replies.

“I would let you swing it yourself,” Ben promises. “But do you find wisdom in Rey’s decision?”

“I don’t want these men as allies,” Finn insists. “… but wants and needs are not the same.”

“Agreed. But your thoughts on the idea?”

“An unfortunate necessary evil,” Finn says immediately.

Ben has to smirk at that, at the general putting his exact thoughts on the matter into four simple words. It is necessary, yes, especially regarding the information (and potential wealth) that his ideas require. But that doesn’t mean he’s looking forward to the occasion. Far from, truly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Finn nods, his full lips quirking up slightly in return. “Glad to hear it.”

For a handful of heartbeats, the only sound in the room is the crackling of the fire, and the creaking of Finn’s chair as he shifts into a more comfortable position. Ben weighs his words on his tongue, trying to decide whether to say them when—

“Just say it.”

Ben blinks at Finn. “Excuse me?” he demands.

“You’re going to ask me something,” Finn says. “You’ve been staring at me, like you’ve been wanting to say something. So say it.”

“You know Rey very well,” Ben says, the words spilling from his lips perhaps too quickly to be clear and understandable. But Finn doesn’t ask him to clarify. “Tell me about her, a little. Please.”

“It depends on what you want to know. Some things are for her to tell you,” Finn replies, leaning back in the chair. The man is perhaps as infuriating as he is attractive, looking so casual, as though he knows that Ben knows little to nothing about his own wife. “But I will answer what I can.”

“Her favorite flower?” Ben demands. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I know Snoke gave her jewelry and material things. I know she has no wish for any more, if the fact that she gave me many of them to sell is any indication. I want to show my appreciation for her and all she has done. She could have let me drown in my own ignorance and oblivion, could have watched me sink. But instead she has chosen to help me, and help our people. I will be forever in her debt. I know that flowers aren’t a perfect gift, considering they are far less than the value of what she’s given me, but it could be a start?”

Finn looks thoughtful. And smug. “What?” Ben demands. “Am I wrong? Does she not wish for such things?”

“No, it’s not that,” Finn insists. His smirk turns into something more genuine. “She likes lily of the valley. Lilies in general are good bets.”

“That doesn’t answer why you smirked at me,” Ben replies.

“You admire her.”

“Of course I do. Is that so strange?”

“Remember who her last husband was,” Finn says, standing from the chair. Ben remains sitting, staring up at the general as Finn takes a step closer. “She’s not used to being treated as an equal. Whatever you can do to reassure her that you think of not only her, but her ideas, do that. Flowers are a start. But you can do more.”

“I have,” Ben replies. “They’re still with the artisans, though.”

Finn raises one dark brow at the emperor. “Are they, now?”

“They are.” There’s a part of him that’s itching to tell, the words just barely contained behind his teeth, before he decides against telling the man. No, he has no knowledge of how well the general keeps secrets, and he has no intension of this one getting out before she sees the end result herself. He hasn’t even told Poe, the man’s lips looser than anyone else Ben has ever known, which is both a blessing and a curse. “Forgive me if I’m reluctant to share the secret.”

“You’re forgiven,” Finn teases. “Any other favorites you want to ask of?”

“The flowers will do for now,” Ben teases in return. He stands, offering his hand to the other man. “I thank you. For your support. In all ways.”

Finn’s grip is firm, his eyes focused solely on Ben. Ben resists the urge to swallow, holding Finn’s gaze steadily, as though it will make a difference in the man’s opinion of him. The general says nothing at first, but then nods, letting go.

“You’re good to her,” he says. “I trust you’ll continue to be.”

“If I am not, I trust she’ll let it be known.”

“Yes, yes she will.” There’s a bit of laughter in Finn’s voice, and Ben smiles in return.

✥

He hasn’t heard the door to her bedroom open or close.

She came back late the night before, this is true. The moon was high in the sky when she came to his door asking for assistance with her cramping fingers. So really it shouldn’t be cause for concern, especially not when there are guards accompanying her everywhere she goes. Not to mention her new companionship with Kaydel. If something had gone truly, terribly, horribly wrong, he would have heard about it.

As it is, he’s heard nothing at all. Neither good, nor bad.

Which makes him even more concerned.

His linens are covered in books and parchment once more, no rhyme or reason to them aside from the logical sense of putting what he needs closer and setting what he’s already read aside. The light is getting low. He’ll need to put another log on the fire, or light more candles to keep his eyes from straining reading Snoke’s fine handwriting—

_Knock knock._

Frowning, Ben looks up. The knock didn’t come from Rey’s side of their door, rather it came from the other door, the one connecting to his sitting room. “Enter?”

Kaydel is dressed as properly as one can be in their nightclothes. Her own robe is a fine thing of deep forest green, her hair waved from being in waves all day. She looks sheepish as she steps into the room, and Ben can see a guard behind her. “My apologies, Your Imperial Majesty—”

“Nonsense,” Ben insists, shifting the book on his lap off so that he may stand and greet her properly. “Did she send for me?”

“Not exactly,” she replies. “I didn’t know who else to ask. Finn's helping with rounds tonight."

“Ask about what?” Ben asks, grateful that he hadn’t changed into his nightclothes yet as he approaches her. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Kaydel replies. “But … you’d better come see.”

The palace is quiet, most everyone else asleep aside from the handful of guards on patrol. Ben follows the young woman towards the office, frowning as she continues speaking.

“I left her a few hours ago,” Kaydel explains, her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to keep warm as the darkness cools the halls. “She insisted upon my going to bed. I slept for a short while, but woke up and went to check on her. She’s fine, I swear.”

“Do you know why she hasn’t gone to bed, then?” Ben asks.

“Yes,” Kaydel says, opening the door to the office and stepping inside first, before holding it open to let the emperor walk through.

He will have to ask Poe if it’s improper that the first word that pops into his head upon seeing his wife is _precious._

She’s out cold on the desk, her arms folded and braced against the wood with her head pillowed on her forearms. Turned towards him, he can see her eyes closed, lashes fluttering against her cheeks in dream. She’s breathing slowly, deep in sleep as he walks forward.

“I didn’t want to wake her,” Kaydel whispers in explanation.

No, he doesn’t want to wake her either. Not when she looks so soft, so sweet with her cheek smushed slightly against the bone of her arm, her lips softly parted as she continues dreaming, hopefully of good things…

“Thank you,” he whispers, turning to Kaydel. “I’ll take her to bed.”

The young woman nods before she’s turning, leaving with the guard, the two of them trusting the emperor to get his empress safely to bed.

The question, though, is how exactly he’s going to do that.

A gentle touch to the soft skin of her cheek does nothing. Neither does a gentle touch to her shoulder, her skin warm through the silk of her gown. If he could leave her to sleep peacefully, he would. But he knows from personal experience that sleeping at a desk for an entire night does not a happy body make, bones and muscles protesting for days afterwards. No, he has to get her to bed somehow.

Ben reaches for her, his thumb pressing gently to the bare skin of where her neck and shoulder meet. He rubs gently, applying the same pressure he did to her hands the night before. Just enough pressure to, hopefully, pull her from sleep.

It takes a few passes of his thumb, a few “Rey”s mumbled, loud enough to prompt her to wake but not loud enough to startle her. Within a few minutes, she’s humming and he resists the urge to smile at her sleepy frown. Obviously displeased that she was woken, Rey looks up at him, blinking blearily. “Kylo?”

He has a quip on the tip of his tongue, something about preferring linen and feathers to wood and parchment, but he holds it in favor of something more gentle. “Can I take you to bed?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, that has implications, that could be misconstrued as something else entirely, she could be offended by it, shit, shit shit…

Only she isn’t. She just stares at him, eyes not entirely seeing him. “Yes,” she says. The word can barely be called such, the single syllable slurred in sleep.

He reaches for her, guiding her arms around his neck. He scoops her up into his arms, letting her head loll against his shoulder. Her left arm remains around his neck, but her right loosens as she slips back into the darkness. Still, he holds her, feeling her breathing even out as he ever so carefully starts to walk.

Kaydel and the guard thankfully left the door open for him. He wouldn’t know what to do if he had to open the door with her in his arms. He certainly doesn’t want to put her down, that’s for damn sure. Not when her breath is so sweet on his neck, her perfume mixed with the slightly sour smell of ink and the rich scent of parchment damn near intoxicating this close. He smelled it before, yes, but there’s a difference between smelling it several feet away and smelling it when she’s in his arms.

He steals looks down at her as he continues to carry her through the hall. Her lashes are fluttering once more. There’s a slim chance she’ll remember his blunder in the morning, or even remember this at all, but he hopes and prays to the Gods that she will forgive him if she does remember.

The guard stationed between their rooms sees him coming. “Thank you,” Ben says under his breath, the man nodding as he holds the door open for the emperor and empress. Ben holds Rey a little tighter, a little closer in an attempt to get through the door frame. The guard goes immediately to open the next one for him, and this time Ben just nods, carrying Rey through into her bedroom.

The fire is dead, the room cold. He’ll have to fix that. But first he crosses to the bed, every step careful and deliberate as he relies on the silver moonlight to keep him from walking into a piece of furniture. Either the Gods are looking out for him or he’s just incredibly lucky, because he somehow manages to make his way to her bed without knocking into anything. The linens need to be pulled down, but he can do that… he thinks.

She doesn’t wake as he lays her down as gently and carefully as possible. Her breathing remains slow and even, her lashes against her freckled cheeks as he moves some hair from her face. He should call for Kaydel, perhaps, or Finn. That way they can get her gown off properly, have her wash her face or whatever she does for her bedtime routine. But she looks so soft this way, and he has no wish to disturb her further…

The fire takes a bit of coaxing. While he waits for it to build, he moves back to her, maneuvering her down and beneath the covers. She whines once, her face scrunching a little just as he’s pulling the blanket up and around her shoulders. He freezes, his eyes wide and heart skipping a beat. But then she is moving, her head turning and body shifting more onto her side, and then there is silence and stillness once more.

He pulls the blankets up quickly.

It’s funny to see the ink stains on her arms. She must have been writing when she decided to sleep, no doubt her eyelids too heavy to continue, the words swimming in her vision. He smiles a little, seeing the imprint of a few letters on her skin. The ink wasn’t fully dry, it seems. But no matter. It’s adorable, truly. And admirable. Her dedication to her people. Their people.

He bends, his lips pressing to her brow. Her skin is soft and smooth. He’s kissed her hands before, yes, but this is new territory, and he wonders if she will remember the gesture as he pulls back, a soft “thank you” falling from his lips.

Her head turns towards him, but her eyes do not open. Her hair slips into her face, and he moves his hand, smoothing the dark strands away from her brow before he pulls back entirely.

The fire is warm enough, now. He pulls the screen over as quietly as he can, before he yawns, feeling his jaw damn near crack as he does so. Dawn should come soon. He needs sleep, as well. He’s willing to bet that, if he picked up the book he’d abandoned to fetch her, the words would blur together. He’ll read it in the morning, he decides, yawning once again. Yes, morning sounds best.

One more look, he decides, as he’s opening their door to step through into his room. He can’t really see her now, just a small form beneath the wool and linen and velvet covers, but he can tell she’s still deeply asleep.

She deserves rest, he thinks, closing the door behind him as quietly as he can.

For all she’s done? For all that she is?

She deserves everything.


	20. XX

She has no recollection of getting to bed.

There’s no memory of warmly-lit hallways. There’s no memory of calling for a guard to escort her back to her room. She can remember bidding Kaydel goodnight when the other woman said it was time for her to retire, and she remembers vaguely continuing to work on more of the letters, but the rest?

The rest is blackness.

She doesn’t usually wake to the sun being this bright, or this high. It slips through the thick curtains around her bed, illuminating the covers and, unfortunately, getting her right in the eye. Rey groans, reaching to block the light with her hand, feeling the thick fabric of her gown pull thanks to the way she’s lying.

Everything aches, no doubt both from writing for hours and from wearing the heavy brocade of her gown to bed. Her shoulders and back pop as she forces herself to sit up, the volume of the cracks making her hiss. If it weren’t for the lack of pain, she’d be very concerned. She’s still a little concerned as something somewhere near her hip pops as well as she stands, her entire body feeling as though she was just run over by a cart.

And it’s oxen.

It’s late morning, she decides, looking at the way the sun reflects on the sea. Well, at least it’s not afternoon?

The knocking on the door makes her wince, her head aching and the sharp rapping making it even worse. “Come in,” she calls, sighing as she reaches back to undo the laces of her bodice.

“Rough night?”

“In the most boring way imaginable, yes,” Rey replies, watching as Poe pushes the cart with breakfast - well, brunch, she supposes - in. “I must have come back and fell asleep before undressing. There’s a reason sleep clothes are looser than gowns.”

“I can imagine so,” he says. “Breakfast in bed?”

“That idea alone just confirmed your place as a royal advisor,” Rey breathes as she lets the gown slip from her shoulders. The relief from the heavy fabric is completely and utterly worth standing before Poe in just a simple cream shift, improper though it may be to those who give a damn. “Fantastic idea.”

“How do you take your tea?”

“No cream, three sugars.”

The rosewater in her vanity is cool, left from the night before, and though she prefers the small luxury of having it warmed, the chill of it wakes her up. The aches and pains and throbbing behind her temples remain, but at the very least she feels clean. Well, clean-er.

“I have a better idea,” she says, turning to take the porcelain cup from Poe as he offers it to her. The warmth of the tea helps soother her aching hands, and she sighs, breathing in the delicious smell of rose tea. “Breakfast in _bath.”_

“Ah, yes, there's a reason you are a ruler and I am a mere advisor,” Poe teases. “I’ll call for someone to prepare it.”

“Thank you.”

With any luck, the hot water will soothe the tight muscles of her hips, her shoulders, her spine, her ass, if only for a little while. The tea damn near burns the top of her mouth, but the warmth it sends through her body is worth it. Such a small comfort, and yet it helps relieve so much.

“Why did you bring me breakfast?” Rey asks, frowning as Poe returns. She leans against one of the posts of her bed, cradling her tea with both hands as he picks up a few of the plates to take into the room with her tub.

“Ren wanted me to check on you,” he replies. He turns and goes into the other room, and Rey can hear the drag of a table against the marble floor. “You slept a long time.” His voice echoes in the room, returning to her almost hollow-sounding.

“How long?”

“Well, I don’t know when you went to bed, but it’s nearly noon. You do the arithmetic,” Poe replies, coming back to get another plate of pastries and fruit. “Want the pot of tea in there, too?”

“Yes, please. If I’m to finish these letters, I need the energy.” She reaches up, running her hand through her hair and grimacing at how it feels. She must have sweat in the night in her gown and the heavy linens. “And motivation.”

“If you don’t get these letters done, we may have a war on our hands,” Poe replies.

“That’s one way of motivation,” Rey agrees as she pushes herself off of the post and follows him into the room with the tub. “And we may have a war on our hands anyways. I doubt some roast peacock and caramelized apples are going to change the minds of the men who think me a whore and a traitor, but we’ll see.”

“It depends on how crispy the peacock skin is and how much sugar was used to caramelize the apples.”

Rey turns, moving to cup Poe’s jaw in her hands. His wounds are less swollen, but still mar his handsome face. The skin of his cheek is still dark and mottled, the wound to his brow still bandaged. But she still smiles, looking up into the eyes of her friend.

“I will rely on you to keep me sane as I plan this event. Ren is wonderful, but sometimes there are wounds only the balm of humor can soothe.”

“I won’t tell him you said that.”

“If he has jokes, he hasn’t told them to me,” Rey replies, pulling back as the bath continues to fill. A table has been set up beside it, her breakfast spread out for her. She walks to grab the ornately carved tray that goes across the top of the tub when she is in it. Yet another piece of proof of Snoke’s lack of understanding and want for control and lavishness. She had asked for something simple, something she could set her tea on as she read, but he gave her a monstrosity of dark mahogany and gold leaf and carvings of cupids and roses.

A spare plank would have done just fine, but of course, this is Snoke. Was Snoke.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Poe asks. “Before I leave you to your much deserved indulgence?”

“I don’t know if it’s deserved, but it’ll keep me from aching more than I already am,” Rey replies. She runs her fingers through the water, feeling the oil that the attendant must have slipped in. Chamomile and rose. Sweet and floral, and calming. “I’m not used to bending over desks.”

She realizes what she just said, and who she just said it to, and she turns, pointing at Poe. “Don’t.”

He holds his hands up in mock innocence, saying nothing as she’d asked.

“Could you send for Kaydel? I wish to speak to her about what still needs to be done,” Rey asks, reaching to grab the painted screen that will put a divide between the tub and the door, for modesty and privacy. “And what I could possibly need from the library.”

“I’ll see if I can find her,” Poe replies. “You’re doing a good job, Rey.”

It’s so simple, so easy, the way he says it. It just rolls off of his tongue and that ease makes her truly believe it. It doesn’t entirely melt away the stress and anxiety that’s buzzing beneath her flesh, but the weight upon her aching shoulders lifts for just a moment.

“Thank you,” she says, voice quiet. “Now if you excuse-”

He’s already leaving, bless him, giving her a wave before he closes the door and leaves her to her peace.

It’s glorious, sinking into the hot water. Already her skin feels softer, all the aches and pains melting away as she settles. Rey doesn’t even touch the breakfast for several moments. As appealing as the sweetened butter and delicate pastries and shining red berries are, being enveloped in heat is far more satisfying. To lift her arm and hand from this bliss, even for a chocolate croissant? A tragedy.

She has to admit, she’s a little angry when there’s a knock on the door, disrupting her peace and quiet.

“Come in.”

The footsteps are heavier than Kaydel’s. They stop suddenly, scuffing on the marble.

“I apologize, I didn’t realize this room was…” Kylo Ren trails off, fully realizing that he just stepped into her bathing room rather than another sitting room. “Poe said you were in here?”

She can see her husband through the holes in the screen. There aren’t many, small cutouts between the branches of painted golden trees, the window of a temple’s tower. They’re meant to be artistic while still providing cover as a screen should, but it means she can see when his hand moves up, can see as he runs his fingers through his hair in nervousness.

“It’s all right,” she reassures. “There’s a screen. Did you need something of me?”

The paper is painted, yes, but it’s thin, his shadow visible through it. And so she can see the way he shifts his weight.

“I … “ he starts. He clears his throat. “I was wondering how you were feeling.”

“Overwhelmed. Completely and utterly. Sore beyond belief, and exhausted,” Rey replies. She sits up a little, and takes a bit of delight in the choked sound he makes as the sound of the water shifting echoes in the room. “But the letters are almost finished, if I can recall, if not finished already. I need to address them, and of course the seal, and reread for errors, but the agony of it is over.”

“That’s good.” She’s never heard his voice like that, low and choked.

There’s … something. Satisfaction, perhaps, that though she is bare and vulnerable, he is the one with uneven breath and shifting feet.

She’s never felt this way before. It’s exhilarating, to move a little bit, to let him hear the water again, to hear the hitch in his breath.

“How is the seal?” she asks, sitting up fully to reach for a strawberry.

“Almost finished,” he replies. “It should be ready by this afternoon. And then we will have to decide—”

“Wax color,” she completes. “That will be a decision worth analyzing, as well.”

“Black?”

“A hopeless color. Not what you want for the dawn of a new era,” she says. The strawberries are drizzled with honey, something she didn’t realize until she bites down and tastes sweetness beyond the natural flavor of the berry. She hums, cupping her hand beneath her chin to catch the juice from the fruit. “Gold would suit the opulence the elite prefer, but again, Snoke was known for the color.”

“Red?”

“Blood.”

“A reminder, then,” Ren replies. “Of Snoke’s demise.”

“We want hope, not a reminder of death,” Rey insists, watching his shadow shift through the screen. It’s difficult to tell whether he can see her through it, whether she’s backlit enough or whether he’s just staring at delicate paintings of rolling fields and golden trees and buildings. “Red is violence.”

“You’ve thought about this in depth.”

“It came across in a few of the written pieces I found regarding other events,” Rey explains. “If nothing else, I’ve learned that people will attempt to take meaning from everything. So we have to be careful what we show.”

“The most hopeful color is yellow.” Kylo says it with such disdain and disgust that Rey has to laugh. It sounds even louder in the stone-walled room, bouncing back and forth. She’s almost embarrassed by it, but she can just hear his little chuckle.

“No, we won’t use yellow,” she says. She reaches for her tea, stirring it before taking a sip. Poe must have let it steep a while, because it’s strong. Energizing. Bless him. “I was thinking green.”

“Green,” Ren repeats.

“Growth,” Rey explains. “New growth and change. Hope for something more to come out of what was trampled and burned and beaten down.”

“Green it is. I’ll inquire as to which greens we have, or whether we need to get any.” There’s a pause. “I don’t … who would I ask for that?”

“Hell if I know,” Rey replies, before the sheer ridiculousness of this moment makes her laugh. Here she is, bathing, strawberry juice and honey on her lips while her husband - Gods, her _husband _\- stands on the other side of the screen as they talk about wax colors and the empire neither are fit for ruling.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“At us,” Rey clarifies. “We don’t have the slightest idea of what we’re doing.”

“Maybe not,” Ren says. “But whatever we are doing, it will be far better and kinder than anything he ever did.”

“That’s right.”

The silence that follows is warm. Comfortable. Only made awkward when she shifts to get a pastry, and the sound of the water reminds them of exactly where they are, how they are.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” Ren says. She can see the flush of his cheeks through the few holes in the screen. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you.”

He leaves quickly, his boots scuffing against the marble floor and the door closing behind him. She’s left with her breakfast and her bath, already feeling a hundred, if not a thousand times better than she had the moment she woke up.

Poe didn’t fetch Kaydel. Whether he simply forgot, or whether he made the decision that she needed an hour to just take care of herself is unclear. But she has one of the most wonderful, stress-free mornings she’s had in weeks, and she enjoys every moment of it.

✥

The invitations are finished.

Written.

Addressed.

Sealed, the same mark that Ren used for the coronation pressed into the emerald green wax.

The woven basket that they’re put in to be sent out seems almost too natural, too light for what the invitations contain and symbolize. Rey stares at dried, woven vines, the way they cradle the parchment and ink and wax. So many pieces of parchment.

“You did wonderfully.”

His hand rubs at her back. Just a quick thing, a reassuring touch to emphasize his soft words. Rey turns, looking at Kylo. “You think?”

“Unless you decided to completely change the wording of the few that I saw, then I do think, yes.”

“There was some variation, depending on population, region, et cetera,” Rey mutters, bringing her thumb to her lip so that she may tap her teeth against the nail. “I went over them ensuring there were no spelling errors. There were a few I had to rewrite, a word here or there, but Kaydel looked over them as well.”

“If they fault you for spelling a word wrong, that is their decision, and a foolish one.”

“They fault me for everything else,” Rey says with a sigh, reaching up to rub at her brow. “They already think so low of me. I just hope that they agree to come. Or at the very least send the information that we need.”

“You included the list?”

“In every one of the leaders, yes. The elite I simply wrote pretty things. I should have written in syrup if I wanted it any sweeter,” Rey says. “While my ‘betrayal’ of my husband won’t gain me any favors, I do hope that my written tone might.”

Again there is the hand on her back, but this time it stays. She looks back up to Kylo where he’s braced next to her against her desk, both of them staring at the pile of letters.

“They do not deserve our politeness, or your sweetness,” he promises, thumb moving against her spine. How strange is it, truly, that the simple movement of just one finger makes her relax. After so long of not having such affection, little gestures are her new treat, her new chocolate. “We will give it to them, because it may help us avoid more death and destruction than has already occurred, but they are not deserving of it. Know that.”

“Mhm.” Rey hums. She looks back to the letters. “Tomorrow, they will be sent. And then … and then we will see."

“We will see.”

His thumb stills on her back, but his hand remains.

“Have dinner with me?”

✥

There isn’t much difference between his balcony, and hers. His is far larger, on a corner of the palace, with room for lounging chairs and a dining table with several seats should he actually wish to invite people to dine with him as Snoke had. But it has the same marble columns, the same marble mosaics on the floor, the same marble railings that are so gold beneath her hands as she looks out over hers. It has the same view of the beautiful sea, the moonlight reflecting off of the waves, and the port with its dark silhouettes of visiting ships.

The biggest difference is that she can see the city, as well.

“You told me he never let you onto the balcony.”

“Because it was his empire, not mine,” Rey replies. She looks out at the city, the golden lights of distant houses glittering beneath silver stars. “He wanted to look out onto his empire. He didn’t want me having any part of it.” She turns her head to look at her new husband, her new emperor, and she smirks. “And look where I am now.”

“I’ve already said it, but I will say it once more,” Kylo says, the corner of his lips quirking upwards. “I will be forever grateful I spared you.”

“As will I,” Rey replies, her smile broadening as she hears the cart bearing their dinner. “What did you request?”

“Nothing fancy,” Kylo says. “Soup made from some of today’s catch, and fresh vegetables. Fresh bread. I hope you weren’t expecting a feast?”

“Not at all.” With every step, the looser and lighter fabric of her gown allows for the cool night air to kiss at her legs. Such a thing would have been impossible before thanks to the heavy brocades and several layers of undergarments to push the skirts out away from her. She grins, giddy with newfound freedom as she settles into one of the chairs at the table. “Remind me why we haven’t done this before?”

“Because we’ve been busy trying to ensure that we are not entirely loathed by the men who still have some remnant of power and wealth?” Kylo asks.

“A fair point.” She has had her dinner at her desk several nights. Hell, that desk has seen breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “But I like this.”

“As do I.”

The soup is not what she expected. Snoke always preferred creamy soups, with smooth textures and rich, buttery flavor. Stews were unusual. Soups like this, a simple combination of delicious ingredients and spices, even rarer. Rey can remember some remark from him about how anyone can just throw things into a pot and make a soup. But his chefs were more refined than that.

When the soup is served, it’s not decorated. There are no sprigs of herbs, no additional sauces artfully placed atop the surface. It’s a mess, truly, and she loves it. She loves seeing the bits of carrot, potato, onion. The fresh crab and shrimp and fish, tender and white and flaky. It’s spicier than she expected, the first sip leaving a pleasant burn at the tip of her tongue, but it’s delicious. So many flavors, but not too many, as Snoke often had.

“What kind of food did you eat on Jakku?”

“Cured meats,” Rey explains, dipping her spoon in once more. “There were some plants that grew, but not many. Most had a hard exterior to protect them from the heat and sun. You had to work hard to crack them open and get the meat, so often it was rarely worth it. The bread was always dry, and hard. And of course we didn’t have anything to soak it in. I remember sitting on my mother’s lap gnawing on the heel of a roll during some meeting. There’s no food or drink I miss from there, if that’s why you’re asking.”

“I was, partly. The other part was genuine curiosity,” Kylo says, reaching for a roll before offering her the bowl. She nods in thanks, taking a roll as well. “I would enjoy going there some day.”

“Don’t lie,” Rey replies simply, looking up at him as he raises his gaze to her in surprise. “There is nothing there. Snoke ordered a complete execution. The palace, if it can even be called such, and if it even still remains, is more than likely deserted. If you are trying to be kind and saying you wish to go for my sake, to understand something of me, then I appreciate your intent, but there’s nothing for me there anymore, and I don’t want to go back.”

Kylo seems stunned, but only for a moment, before— “I understand.”

“Do you?”

“There are a few places from my childhood that I have no wish to return to, the memories attached too painful for me,” he confesses. “So yes, I do.”

Rey tears off a bit of the bread, dipping it in the broth of the soup before tucking it between her lips. She hums to fill the awkward silence, before she chews and swallows quickly so that she can offer, “My apologies. I don’t think you expected for that question to turn the conversation so bleak.”

His laughter is soft. She likes when he smiles. His eyes crinkle, and his cheeks get deep lines in them. His teeth are not straight like she’s seen some men alter theirs to be, but then again, Snoke barely had teeth at all. And besides, she likes the roughened look. It suits him.

“I have something for you.”

She’s just taken another bite of soup, and she swallows quickly. She regrets it immediately, her throat burning, but at the very least now she can ask, “Oh?”

“I wanted to wait until we’ve finished our meal, but Gods forgive me, I cannot wait any longer,” he says, standing from the table. “Wait here.”

Rey frowns, watching him as he walks into his chambers. She wracks her brain, trying to think of something, anything, he could have gotten her that she doesn’t already have. Gems and jewels she has more than plenty of, and he knows quite well that they aren’t something she desires anyway. Flowers? Perhaps. A book of everything she could ever need in order to plan this event without everything going horribly, terribly wrong?

Gods, she wishes.

Instead, he returns with a long box. Almost an arm’s length, and twice as wide, Rey frowns, moving to stand as well.

“No, don’t get up,” he mutters, voice low as he approaches her. His fingers find the golden latch of the box, undoing it for her but letting her open it for herself. “There’s an explanation, if you wish for it.”

“I’ll decide that once I see what it is?” Rey asks, frowning as she shifts, turning to sit sideways in the chair so that she may face him and reach for the box. It’s certainly not flowers or a book, that’s for certain.

She doesn’t recognize the mark on the box, no doubt the craftsman of whatever is inside. The lid sticks a little bit, and when she sees the velvet on the inside she can understand why. But it’s what’s lying on the velvet that’s the gift.

Two blades. A sword, and a dagger. They are as ornate as her desk, in that they are not nearly as fancy or gilded as the blades Snoke used himself, but they have some decoration to make them unique. Leaves and vines curl up the dagger’s hilt, the same sort of vines curling around the rapier’s guards.

“I commissioned them after the night in the garden. After you were attacked,” Kylo explains, his voice low and soft. “I never want you to be unable to defend yourself in some way. If you prefer another weapon, or prefer your hands, then I will ask any fighter and buy any blade or blunt instrument you please. But I wish for you to be prepared. And so I asked for these.”

“I don’t know how to wield a rapier,” Rey confesses. She looks from the weapons to her husband, her fingers brushing the steel hilt of the sword. “I’ve only held knives.”

“Then I will ask someone to teach you, or teach you myself,” Kylo replies. “Whichever you wish for. Or if you wish for something else, then so be it.”

The weight of his hand on her head is strange. His palm slips down, stroking her hair, before coming to cup her cheek sweetly.

“I don’t wish to lose you by another’s hand,” he whispers.

“Because then you would have to write your own invitations and speeches?” Rey teases, feeling the sting of tears as he chuckles and bends to kiss the top of her head. She looks down at the gleaming weapons, feeling his lips against her part as he lingers there.

“Because then the empire would have lost its empress, and I my wife,” he mutters against her hair. “It would be devastating to lose you so soon into knowing you.”

She has to smile at that, even as the lid to the box of blades is closed in favor of dessert. Even the rich, decadent chocolate torte and the tart raspberry sauce pooled beneath it is no match for the thoughts in her head, and she begs his forgiveness - the dessert was so good, she was lost in it, she says.

“Be sure to tell Maz, then,” he tells her, and she reassures him that she will before bidding him goodnight with a gentle smile that reveals none of the storm riling in her chest.

“Could we go a different way?” she asks the guard who was assigned to accompany her.

He nods.

The galleries are not entirely finished, yet. There are still weapons and armor to return to the families, tribes, clans that Snoke killed the leader of. She sees some empty spaces, though, and it makes her heart feel a little lighter as she walks through.

Just as she had ordered, her and Snoke’s wedding portrait has been hung.

In the low light of evening, it’s difficult to see. The guard lights the few sconces around the room for her, but it does little to truly illuminate the painting. She can see the gold leaf applied to her gown and his robes, can see the harsh shadows of his disfigurements. He is so tall, so grand, and even though she stands next to him in one of the most opulent gowns perhaps ever created, she still looks miniscule.

Powerless.

If the guard puts two and two together and realizes what she’s doing as she opens the box, he says nothing, letting her do as she pleases. He says nothing of the tears running down her cheeks, of the way she grips the dagger so tightly her knuckles turn white with the effort.

He gave her pretty things. Simple things. Simple woman, simple things, right? Dreadfully wrong. The dagger is heavy in her hand, but not so heavy that she cannot lift it the way it was intended.

She can recall the way her and her cousins threw sharp rocks at the mud exterior of the Jakku palace, the way some stuck and some didn’t, blunted by past attempts. She wasn’t the best, but some of her rocks stuck, and stuck well.

_Because then the empire would have lost its empress, and I my wife._

_My wife._

How can the definition of a word differ so greatly from man to man?

She wouldn’t have been able to reel her arm back the way she is in one of Snoke’s gowns. Once more she is grateful for the looser fabrics, because it means she can aim properly instead of treating the dagger like a simple playing dart.

On Jakku, the game was less aim, more luck and circumstance. But that doesn’t mean she can’t.

And with such a large target?

She doesn’t aim for anywhere in particular. She just aims for _him._

It’s not hard.

The dagger lands along his disfigured cheek and jaw, the fresh blade slicing through the canvas to the wall easily. It dawns on her too late that the portrait is far too tall for her to get the dagger back down, but hindsight is a funny thing.

“… Please don’t ask anyone to get it tonight, it’s late. It can wait until tomorrow,” Rey begs, turning to the guard. She can see his wide eyes, and can’t even imagine what thoughts are in his head. “Thank you.”

There is still the weight of the event on her shoulders. The weight planning it, the weight of the hatred of men she’s never truly met, the weight of ruling the empire when she has no idea what she is doing and neither does the man she is ruling alongside.

But she smiles through her tears as she cradles the box to her chest, so tightly that the latch of it leaves an imprint in the skin of her left breast.

She may not know how to wield it. Not yet.

But she will.


	21. XXI.

“Have you been to the gallery this morning?”

It’s early. It was Poe’s idea to rise with the dawn, to attempt to help Rey in some way regarding the … gathering? Meeting? Whatever they’re calling it. The invitations are going out today, yes, but there’s still so much more to prepare. 

He hasn’t even heard Rey in her room, hasn’t heard the creak of her bed as she sits up to start the day, hasn’t heard her sleepy shuffles as she makes her way to her vanity. It’s that early. 

Ben looks up from the pastry he’s spreading with jam, meeting Poe’s eyes as the older man smirks behind the porcelain teacup. Isn’t that a sight? Scruff and a smirk behind delicate porcelain, gold leaf, and flouncy painted peonies. Before all of this, he would see it behind wooden cups and tarnished tankards. “Why would I have been to the gallery this morning? I haven’t even been this week.”

“I was just asking,” Poe defends. “There’s something there you should see.”

“What, was there yet another room with trophies and triumphs and gifts from foreign islands that were cast aside in disrespect?”

“No. And if I explain it to you I’ll spoil it. Just go there after we finish our meal.”

“All right?” Ben asks, completely and utterly confused as Poe reaches for slice of quiche, the ham inside tender and the onions caramelized and sweet. “I don’t understand.”

Poe has his fork halfway to his mouth, a perfect bite on it, before he sighs. “Something happened to the wedding portrait.”

“What happened to it?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Poe mutters, before he stands, setting his napkin aside and looking to the young man who’s supposed to serve them, but is instead indulging in some of what he brought them, as Ben instructed. “Come on. Let me show you.”

“Why were you in the gallery?”

“A guard told me what happened.”

“And what happened?”

“Good Gods, Ben, that’s what I’m showing you.”

Ben frowns, standing and following his friend. “If Rey’s image has been defaced—”

“Not Rey’s,” Poe’s quick to assure. 

“Snoke’s, then.”

“You’ll see.”

The trip down to the gallery is a quick one. The palace has many intricate passageways, spiraling staircases and narrow hallways meant as paths for servants and guards to take. No doubt during Snoke’s time, he never used them, probably wasn’t even aware of half of them. He took the main corridors, always present, always visible. Never hiding his movements. 

Ben doesn’t understand that, truly, especially considering the staircase just to the left of his and Rey’s rooms is significantly smaller and less exhausting than going all the way down the grand staircase with all of its deep marble steps and balconies and flights. 

He sees the dagger immediately. There’s little light in the gallery, the room positioned in the middle of the palace without any windows so that the paintings may be protected from fading. But some morning light still spills through the doorways from the halls, and he can see the glint of the metal as he walks into the room. It’s high, a good seven feet or so. It was obviously thrown, and with decent aim. Not perfect aim, no but decent aim, along Snoke’s jaw and cheek, the side that was scarred in battle.

“Any guesses to who threw it?” Poe asks, and from the tone of his voice, he knows exactly who threw it. 

So does Ben.

“She won’t need as much training as I assumed,” Ben mutters. “I’ll have to reevaluate who I asked.”

“I thought you were training her?”

Ben looks to Poe, the dim light of the gallery casting the man’s face in shadow. The emperor frowns, considering the idea. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he admits, looking back towards the dagger before stepping forward. He reaches up, pulling it from the canvas. It takes a good bit of effort, the tip of the blade having dug itself into the wall behind the painting as well. Ben grunts with the effort, lowering it and looking down at the heavy hilt in his hand. Did he make it too heavy? Then again, she had no problem throwing it, as evidenced by how accurate her aim was.

“It was your sword that ran Snoke through,” Poe remarks, voice low but still sounding so loud in the empty gallery. “I think it’s only fitting that you’re the one who shows her how to use hers.” He tilts his head to the hole in the painting. “Though it looks like she already knows some.”

“To throw a knife is different,” Ben mutters. He lowers the dagger to his side, looking up at where the canvas has been sliced neatly and debating whether it’s worth the effort to have the painting repaired. 

Though he’s fully aware that it isn’t his decision to make.

✥

She’s sitting at the table when they return. 

It’s been amazing, truly, to see her become more open and comfortable. Before, she would have eaten with him completely made up. Hair done, jewels polished, gown overwhelming her. Now, Rey sits at the table, enjoying her first cup of tea with her hair loosely braided and her robe over her nightshift. 

Ben smiles at the sight of her, a small and soft thing as she looks up and sees the two men. It doesn’t take long for her gaze to find the dagger in his hand, and he’s blessed with the sight of her cheeks flushing. Oh, her ears flush, too, and the pink travels down her chest, as well. She looks radiant, even as she looks away and sets her teacup on its saucer. 

“I didn’t want to bother anyone by asking them to get it last night,” she says. “I’m surprised you were able to reach it.”

“I had to stand on my toes,” Ben admits, flipping the blade in his hand and holding it gently, holding the hilt out to her. “I’m quite impressed with your aim.”

“On Jakku, the palace was made of mud,” Rey explains as he and Poe take their seats. “My cousins and I would take sharp rocks and throw them at the wall. It was less about aim and more about who had the sharpest rock, but it was a way to pass the time.” She hesitates for a moment. “My father taught me a bit, for hunting, but then the drought came and the animals left, and there was no need for it.”

“So you have some experience with a blade?” Ben asks, reaching for his tea again and noticing someone has refilled it. Wonderful. He looks to one of the men standing by and nods in thanks. 

“Some would be generous,” Rey replies. 

“You got Snoke pretty good,” Poe says. 

“Luck,” Rey explains. “That’s all that was. Truly.”

“You’ll need more than luck to defend yourself,” Ben says. He reaches for the pastry he’d abandoned, no longer hot but just as buttery and delicious as before. “I’ll train you.”

He shoves the pastry in his mouth, watching as Rey’s hand stops halfway towards a slice of orange. She looks up at him, brows furrowed. 

“You’d be willing to do that?”

He swallows quickly, risking choking but he needs to answer her. “Yes, of course, I am. I want for you to be able to protect yourself. Forgive me if I am not the best teacher, as I’ve never trained anyone before, and I can ask someone else if you’d rather—”

“No,” Rey insists immediately, cutting him off. There’s that delicate flush again. “I would like for you to train me.”

“Then that settles it,” Ben says. He offers her the best smile he can as his heart skips a beat that she would want to be trained by him, that she would interrupt him just to insist it. “We’ll start this afternoon, if you’d like?”

“I would like that very much.”

“3. In the gardens, on the patio,” Ben decides, and she nods, before finally taking the orange slice she had reached for before.

It’s not until after she’s left to go see about the invitations and whether they’ve been sent that Ben realizes what exactly he’s offered. And even then, he doesn’t realize it until Poe smirks once more behind his tea cup.

“What?” Ben demands, a bit more harshly than he’d meant to. 

Poe’s known him long enough that he doesn’t take offense to the tone, and instead just hums. “You’re aware of what you’re doing?”

“Finishing breakfast?” 

“Offering to train her,” Poe explains. “All right, so you’re not aware. No wonder you didn’t think of it in the first place.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

Poe scoots his chair, turning to fully face Ben, and the emperor has the feeling whatever’s going on is about to be explained to him like a child. He turns his chair as well, facing his companion and staring directly into the other man’s eyes, daring Poe to mock him.

Poe gets the hint, his posture relaxing, but he continues anyway. “You’re going to have to touch her,” he explains. “You’re going to have to show her how to hold the blade, where to shift her weight, how to hold her shoulders. You’re going to have to hold her hand and adjust her fingers just so. You’re going to have to hear her out of breath and see her flushed. Are you prepared for that?”

“No,” Ben readily admits as the realization comes crashing down on him. He stares just beyond Poe, already imagining her arm reeling back, those delicate fingers wrapped around the hilt, those same fingers that write such eloquent things, those same hands he rubbed the soreness out of nights ago, those same hands he finds so delicate but so powerful and obscenely beautiful— 

_“Fuck.”_

It’s certainly not the first time Poe’s laughed at his expense. And Ben’s sure it won’t be the last. But it doesn’t exactly help the situation as he groans and rests his head in his hands and dreads the hours between now and 3.

✥

He hasn’t walked through the gardens before. He hasn’t had time. It felt wrong to do something as leisurely as strolling through the roses when the entire empire is on his shoulders, as well as the health and happiness of his people.

It’s … intense. He doesn’t know whether the intricate hedge sculptures and beautifully pruned bushes were Snoke’s idea, or some emperor before him, but there’s just so much to look at. And this is just right off of the patio. So he’s heard, there are three mazes of varying difficulties, and several fountains. He’s heard Finn speak of hearing children in the mazes. They weren’t allowed in them before, the labyrinths reserved for the pleasure of royalty and royalty only. 

It’s a small change, yes, but it’s one that has resulted in a child’s joy and laughter. 

And those are the best changes of all, are they not?

Ben walks alongside one of the fountains as he waits, observing the sculpture. A maiden of the sea, her tail intricately carved and pressed with what looks like mother of pearl. It shines and shimmers in the afternoon sunlight, almost blinding. Then again, this was Snoke’s palace. Everything was damned blinding in its sheen and wealth. 

The fish she holds gurgles fresh, clear water, and he watches it bubble from the creature’s lips for a few moments before he looks out towards the sea that served as the inspiration for such art. 

She hasn’t been back to the shore. Or, at least, he hasn’t heard of the guards taking her. Maybe that’s something else to schedule. A walk along the sands. At the very least it will keep them from going completely and utterly mad with the stress of planning the events. 

That, and he’ll get to actually see her with her toes in the sand, or up to her ankles in the water. He doesn’t know what she does down there, what she’s drawn to. Maybe the sand, because it’s familiar. But also maybe the water, because she grew up without it. He stares at the waves crashing in the distance beyond the cliffs, the fountain gurgling behind him. 

How wasteful must she have thought it? A giant pool the size of his sitting room, filled with clear, cool water, used only for decoration?

How wasteful must she have thought everything in this damned palace?

“Kylo?”

Ben turns at the sound of the name he’s taken for himself. It’s so rare to be called ‘Ben’ anymore. He hears it from Poe, from Hux, but that’s all. 

He’s become more familiar with his not-name now, than the name he was born with. 

She’s changed since breakfast, obviously. Though she’s more comfortable with him seeing her in her night clothes in the privacy of one of his parlors, she wouldn’t dare leave the palace without a proper gown on. This one is simple, one of Amilyn’s newer creations of a deep chocolate brown. Little embellishment, but he finds he likes it. The deep color contrasts with her pale skin that’s slowly becoming more and more freckled as she spends time outside, instead of the porcelain it once was. 

“Rey,” he says, stepping forward to greet her. Her hair’s been pulled back from her face, but a few pieces are too short and instead hang near her ears. “What of the invitations?”

“Sent,” she replies. “And my heart will be beating in twice the time for as long as we hear nothing.” She sighs, but fakes a smile. “So. We are training?”

“Yes,” he says, falling into step beside her as they walk back in the direction of the palace. “I’ve set targets up on the patio. I figure it makes sense to hone your skills with the knife before we touch the sword. Of course, very different techniques, but if the purpose is to defend yourself, I’d much rather you be knowledgeable and good in one area rather than lukewarm in both.”

“A suitable decision,” Rey commends. He looks down at her. Gods, she’s small. He knows that she’s actually tall for a woman, has seen her standing next to Maz and Kaydel and Rose, but compared to him? She’s short. 

Compared to Snoke, too, as evidenced by the portrait. 

“Do you have wish for me to repair the portrait?” he asks, remembering that was something he needed to ask. “Or remove it entirely?”

“Leave the hole, and the portrait,” Rey replies, the answer coming quick. She turns her head and looks up at him, meeting his gaze, and he swallows at seeing her so determined. She’s always so beautiful like this, gaze hard and jaw tight, firm in her decision. “I want to be reminded that he is no longer. There is a difference between honoring his memory, and remembering him so that I may then remember he is gone.”

“A suitable decision,” Ben echoes as they approach the target practice. He can see the guard that accompanied her, holding the box with the blades, and then he realizes. A scabbard. He needs to get her sheaths for both of them. 

But where would she…?

Ben frowns, looking down at her, at her waist as he considers her gown, what would be appropriate, what would work…

“Dare I ask what you’re looking at?”

There’s a hardness to her tone he hasn’t heard in a while as his gaze snaps up to hers. She’s not glaring at him, not quite, but that same hardness in her voice is in her eyes as well, and he realizes belatedly that his gaze could have been focused a little higher than her waist. 

“Forgive me,” he begs, feeling his throat tighten with shame and embarrassment as his cheeks and ears flush hot. “I was just … I was … mine goes … “ He realizes he’s saying absolutely nothing, and he swallows, clears his throat, tries again. “A sheath. I neglected to consider sheaths for both of the blades. I was wondering if you would want a belt to hold them, but—”

“For the sword, yes,” Rey replies. “And yes, for the dagger. Amilyn gave me a sheath, but it’s not flush. Still, it’s good enough for now, and I can keep it on my person.”

Ben frowns, not seeing the blade attached to her hip or waist. “Where?”

Rey stops walking, and Ben does as well, turning to see his wife … lifting the skirt of her gown? He should avert his eyes, he knows, but he’s frozen, watching with wide eyes as she lifts the chocolate brown skirt and the cream shift underneath up, revealing slender, pale legs. His mouth goes dry as he watches her lift it even past her knee and—

He’s not sure whether it’s the work of the gods or Amilyn, but someone’s out to torture him, he’s sure of it. 

The sheath is high up on her thigh, held onto it by two leather straps. She pulls the blade from the supple leather, letting her skirts fall down once more. “Amilyn is going to modify my gowns so that they will have a pocket, with a hidden hole,” Rey explains as she shows him the knife. “So that I may reach for it and pull it out without having to bend over or go beneath.”

“I see,” he says, his voice choked as he recalls dark, soft leather against creamy skin.

He would bet anything and everything that Poe’s watching from some window, some balcony, and absolutely losing it with laughter right now, at his expense. He’ll have to find the man later to confirm, and to scold. 

And perhaps to groan to as Rey looks up at him, her brown eyes wide and eager and absolutely oblivious to what damage she’s just done. 

“Here,” Ben tries, his hand coming to her lower back as he guides her towards the targets he had set up. There were a handful in the barracks, and so he borrowed two, the canvas pulled taut over wood on one and the other filled with hay. Once they progress, maybe he’ll get pigs, something with some sort of flesh-like quality, and they can see what damage her throw really does. 

But for now, they have wood and hay and canvas. 

“Show me how you held the knife before,” he says, watching her as she takes the blade and holds it somewhat properly. “All right, good. There are a few adjustments, though.”

He takes her hand, and slides it further back on the hilt, so that it’s in the middle, rather than right up front. Her hands are soft, even though there are callouses on some of her fingers from writing the invitations. He adjusts her fingers, helping them curl around the hilt of the knife, making sure the blade is properly angled. 

“Here,” he says quietly. “Fingers curl around, thumb over top.”

“Do you throw knives often?” Rey asks, and he pauses, his hands still holding hers, and her wrist. 

“Not often, no, but my father taught me,” Ben explains. “I reach for my sword more often.”

“Yes, I’ve seen you use it,” Rey replies, and Ben frowns, wracking his brain for when she might have seen him—

Ah. Yes, that’s right. That’s … yes. How could he forget?

“So the way you position your arm depends on how far away you are from the target,” he explains, cheeks flushing hot again as he moves towards something more productive. “From where we’re standing… here.”

He adjusts her arm as necessary. “The closer you are to the target, the closer your wrist will be to your arm,” he explains, cupping her elbow and tilting her wrist backwards to show her. “The further away you are, the straighter your arm should be. Closer means the blade spins more, straighter means it does not spin as much.”

“And that affects it?” Rey asks, frowning up at him as he continues to hold her arm. 

“Everything affects it. The wind, your stance, your arm, how you angle your arm, your wrist,” Ben explains, his hand coming to her waist and holding her steady. “There.”

“This is more complex than I assumed,” Rey mutters. 

“Wait until we use your sword,” Ben teases as she moves her arm back. “Good. Relax. Again.”

He has her move her arm a few times, before throwing in the distances. “Close. Good. Far. Good. Moderate. Good.”

She catches on quickly, but the technicalities are easy. It’s the technique that’s more difficult. 

“All right, moderate,” he says, watching as she moves her arm back to that position. “Good.”

He moves closer again. “I’m going to put my hands on your hips, all right?” he mutters. He receives a nod, and his breath hitches a little as he finds her hips through the gown of her dress. The fact that he can see the way her bodice is straining against her breasts isn’t helping, not in the slightest. He knows it’s because the gown was made for tea and writing and dancing and most certainly not for throwing knives, but it’s distracting as all hell even as he adjusts her hips towards the target. 

“You write with your right hand, correct?”

“Correct.”

“All right, so shift your left leg forward. Don’t put weight on it, just use it for balance. Raise the knife, there you are. Keep your hand away from your head, lest Rose scold you for giving yourself a hair cut.”

Her laughter is bright and sweet, and he smiles, moving back a little, his hands loathe to leave her but he knows it’s the safe way. “And throw.”

It’s not a bad throw. Her form’s decent for someone who’s never really thrown a knife before, but it’s her strength that lacks. The edge of her sleeve strains against her bicep, cutting into the delicate skin, but it’s still a pretty good throw. It just misses the target by one or two steps, and he sees her shoulders sag as she watches the knife bury itself in the ground. 

“It’s all right,” Ben reassures her, stepping forward and putting his hand in the middle of her back. “It’s all right, look, it was straight. It didn’t hit the target, but that’s a matter of practice and strength. If you had thrown it harder, it would have been in the middle. Your aim is wonderful.”

“So to hit the painting truly was just luck,” Rey says bitterly as she steps from him to pull the blade from the ground.

“I’m also willing to bet you were standing far closer to the portrait,” Ben says as he follows her. “Here, let’s try here. Remember where your wrist is supposed to be.”

She still doesn’t hit it. She huffs, walking over and retrieving the knife from the ground. “Again.”

“As many times as you wish,” Ben replies, standing and watching her. 

Her form is good. There are a handful of times he steps in to adjust her wrist, to give her the best chance of actually hitting the mark, but it seems like no matter what he does, she always comes a little short. He watches as the blade just barely nicks the bottom of the wooden target, and turns as Rey growls a little in frustration. 

It’s a sound he’s never heard from her, and if he’s entirely honest with himself, he will do anything to hear it again. If only it didn’t mean her frustration and anger as she walks over to the blade and yanks it from the grass. 

Her cheeks and chest are flushed from the heat of the sun and from the exertion, and when she drops the knife to the ground, Ben’s damn sure she’s giving up for the day. He almost bends to pick it up when she turns her back to him. 

“I need you to loosen the ribbons,” Rey says, her voice firm. 

“What?” Ben demands, staring at her back and the few strands of hair that have come loose during their time. 

“I need you to loosen the ribbons, I want you to loosen the bodice,” Rey repeats, more insistently now and almost harsh. 

“All right?” Ben asks. The words come out choked as he steps forward. The ribbons look so soft and delicate in his grasp, and he takes care not to strain or rip them, instead untying the bow and plucking at some of the lacing to loosen the bodice for her. He can see that she’s holding the front of it to her breasts, making sure that this moment doesn’t become more improper than it already is (and it’s already very improper). He can see some of the guards averting their eyes. 

“That’s enough,” Rey says, once the ribbons have been loosened to her liking. Ben watches, completely confused as she holds the bodice to her chest with one arm, and shimmies, wriggling her shoulder until the puffed sleeve of her gown is further down her arm. Then she pulls her arm out, letting the sleeve rest under her arm before she’s doing the same to the other side. It looks ridiculous, quite frankly, but he stares at her bare shoulders and back as she looks to him over her left shoulder, eyes hard and determined. 

“Tighten it, please.” It’s not a request. It’s an order, and one Ben gladly steps forward to follow, pulling the ribbons tight once more and tying it in the best bow that he can. It’s not a great bow, the one that was at the center of her back before was far more beautiful and looping, but at the very least it will hold her bodice in place. 

“Thank you,” Rey breathes once he lets go of her, and then she’s walking forward, grabbing the knife from where it had stuck in the ground, and once more standing in front of the target. 

She’s beautiful this way. Of course, she’s beautiful in all ways, Ben knows this well, but to see her with bare shoulders and bare arms, her brow tight with tension and determination as she moves her arm back and shifts her leg forward? He’s never seen something quite so lovely in his entire life as she moves her wrist, and then swings her arm forward. 

It’s not a perfect throw. She hits more of the edge of the target than the center, but it hits the target, and he is privy to seeing her face light up with the most gorgeous smile he’s ever seen from her.

“Congratulations,” he offers. His voice is low and gruff as he watches her walk forward with retrieved knife in hand, his eyes finding freckles and moles he hasn’t seen before, one on her left breast that’s holding his attention now that her neckline is lower than it was. It’s still a proper neckline, in theory. It covers all it needs. It’s just that it’s a little lower, and now he knows that she has a small mole there, like the smallest, most dainty drip of ink he’s ever seen. 

“I did it!” she gasps, grinning as she turns once more to see the blade sticking into the wood. 

“You did,” he confirms. “Why did you—?”

“The sleeves,” Rey explains. “The hem was too tight for throwing. It was keeping me from throwing properly, and I didn’t want to tear it, and so this was the best solution. And it worked!” 

She sounds so pleased with herself, and he can’t help but smile in return as she turns her back to him once more. “May I have help?” she asks. “Please?”

“Yes, of course,” he says quickly. He steps forward to loosen the bodice once more, and averts his eyes as she slips her arms back into the sleeves before pulling them up. 

“I’ll consult with Amilyn about changing the sleeve style, or at the very least loosening them, as she alters the rest of them,” Rey explains, pulling the right sleeve back up her shoulder. He can see now that the sun has pinked her skin. Not too badly, no, but they probably shouldn’t be out for so long the next time they train. He steps forward to tighten it once more, and it takes everything in him not to lean forward and brush his lips against the smooth, soft skin that covers the curve between her neck and her shoulder, her flesh warm from the sun. He tightens the bodice until she says, “That’s fine,” and then he ties it once more for her.

“A fine plan,” he commends, because that’s all he can really say as she turns back around. Her face has softened, now, her smile sweet as she looks up at him. 

And then she leans upwards. 

Her lips brush his cheek, soft and sweet. It’s fleeting, just the slightest touch, but it’s enough to make his heart start racing as he stares down at her with wide eyes. 

“Thank you,” she starts. There’s a quietness to her voice that he didn’t expect after such triumph. “I … I don’t believe that you could ever truly comprehend just how much this means to me. That you not only gifted me such a thing, but you are teaching me to use it properly. You truly do not know.”

There’s emotion, there, in the way her words catch in her throat, and he reaches for her hand, the one that isn’t holding the knife, squeezing her fingers. Gods, her hands are so small, so perfect…

“You’re right. I don’t,” he confesses. “But I made a vow to support you, through times of happiness and hardship. I know not whether this time is happiness or hardship, or neither, or both, but I intend on keeping that vow whatever may come. And I will support you any way I can, whether it is massaging your hands after you write for the sake of our people, or whether it is teaching you to defend yourself against those who do not see things as we do.”

He was wrong, before. While the smile after she succeeded in hitting the target was bright and glorious in its beauty, he much prefers the smile she gives him at this moment. Her eyes shine a little, and he can’t tell whether it’s because she’s tearing up, or whether the sun is too bright as he watches her dimples appear and her lips part to something softer, sweeter. 

“Thank you,” she says again, leaning up to brush one more kiss against his cheek. This one is just as fleeting as the first, but no less warm. He realizes she had to rise on her toes only after he watches her slip back down, before she turns and walks back inside. He stands there, staring out at the gardens and the target. It doesn’t take too long for footsteps heavier than Rey’s to approach. 

“A successful training session?” Poe asks, and though Ben doesn’t see him, he can just hear the man’s smirk. 

“Hush,” Ben hisses, but he can’t help the smile that appears as Poe starts to laugh.


	22. XXII.

“So I hear that Ren has taken it upon himself to train you in the art of combat.”

Her hair is still damp from her post-training bath, braided and pinned up by Rose’s clever hands. She feels cleaner, though, skin not so sticky with sweat and muscles not so tight or aching from being used in ways they’ve never been used before. Rey looks to Hux, the redhead watching her like a hawk as he butters a bit of bread.

“That is correct,” she replies, dipping her spoon into the soup that Maz has made, taking advantage of some of the fresh seafood since they’re right near the port where fishermen bring their treasures. Delicate and creamy, she tells herself she must ask Maz to make it more often. It’s perfect after training, not too heavy but satisfying her ravenous hunger.

“And I’m told it went well?”

“She learns quickly,” Kylo says.

“She must, for I’m assuming she hasn’t had much experience in the art?” Hux asks.

His words aren’t … sharp. Or harsh. But there is judgment there, and Rey rests her spoon on the side of her bowl, instead reaching for another bit of bread and avoiding the gaze of the general.

“You would assume correctly,” she replies. “My experience with knives is limited to my time on Jakku, when I would occasionally go hunting with my father before most of the animals left for places with plentiful water. Emperor Snoke preferred to keep my safety in the hands of my guards and ladies, rather than my own.”

“Don’t forget your stabbing the assassin,” Poe pipes from his position further down the table, his side plate loaded with buttered bread, roasted root vegetables, and a selection of each cheese from a nearby platter.

Rey smiles a little. “I hardly think stabbing a man in the shoulder with a letter opener’s combat experience,” she insists.

“It was combat, however brief it might have been, and therefore it’s experience,” Poe says, waving his spoon at her as he speaks.

In a more proper setting, like one Snoke enforced, spoon wagging wouldn’t have been tolerated. It wouldn’t have even been considered, the action probably seen as mocking or insulting to someone in her position. Now, the action makes her smile a bit, her chest feeling lighter and looser with the casual tone. Yes, she much prefers these dinners to the ones she had with Snoke and his men and their wives.

“But no experience with a sword?” Hux presses.

“No,” Rey says simply.

“I’m well aware of her inexperience, Hux,” Kylo says. “And I’m looking forward to teaching her what I can so that she may ensure her own safety, rather than relying on guards.”

Rey watches her husband out of the corner of her eye, flushing as she looks back down at her dinner. She can still feel the warmth of his cheek against her lips, can still smell the sharp sweat that came with standing under the hot afternoon sun. She takes another bite of soup, her heartbeat quickening as she avoids his gaze.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Hux insists. He sounds like he means it, though she can’t know for certain. “And I apologize if I had. I’m just aghast at how someone in her position wasn’t taught basic defense, considering the amount of times attempts have been made on her life, even when Snoke was Emperor."

“I daresay the image of her with a sword would have been too much for him,” Poe explains. “A woman? With a blade? With something that could hurt others, with something that suggests power and protection? Oh, the horror.”

Before, she would be stared at for snickering. The glares from the wives of the elite and Snoke’s generals and commanders would be ice cold, so judgemental. She was to be seen, and not heard unless prompted, and so laughter was out of the question unless in response to a joke from a man of importance. Snickering was absolutely forbidden.

But now she laughs - snickers, actually - and the feeling is so strange and unfamiliar that it triggers something in her throat and she starts coughing. The men around her look to her, concerned, as she waves them off and reaches for her water.

“I’m fine, truly,” she tries to insist.

“Forgive me,” Poe begs.

“I haven’t laughed like that in years, there’s nothing to forgive,” Rey says, once sips of water have been taken and she can speak once more. Her chest and throat hurt, but how glorious is it that she’s surrounded by people who make her laugh?

And how … terribly sad is it that she wasn’t before.

None of the men around her seem to know how to respond, and so they move on, talking about the progress of the back gardens. She smiles just a little at hearing Hux say they’ve taken almost all of the rose bushes out. If she never smelled that flower again, she would be gloriously happy.

The hollow feeling in her chest that she’s become familiar with lingers, and she still feels hollow and cold after she finishes her soup, her bread. Even the chocolate torte slice isn’t enough to banish the feeling, and she can feel her husband’s gaze on her. She gives him the best soft smile she can, trying to ease his evident worry, but it doesn’t work.

“Can I assist in any way?” he asks, leading her back to her room, two guards behind them.

“No,” she promises. She looks up at him, and her breath hitches, her throat feeling tight. “No, I’m just … feeling overwhelmed.”

“With?” Kylo presses, frowning.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly.

She can see his mind working, his gaze focused on her but blank behind for just a moment. He heard the tightness in her voice, she’s sure of it, and she waits for whatever his mind decides on. It takes a moment, before he’s reaching for her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

“I hope you sleep well,” he says, voice soft and low and why does that make her eyes smart with tears?

“To you as well,” she replies, slipping away before her tears can fall and retreating to the comfort and solitude of her room.

✥

There is a certain time each night, when the sun has fallen just the right amount and the light of the world becomes a soft, calm blue. She knows about the golden hour, when everything looks its most beautiful. But she much prefers the gentleness of the blue hour, the quiet that comes with it as she stands out on her balcony and watches as people in the distance light their lanterns, the candles in their windows, the port becoming this beautiful beacon of blue and yellow.

It’s the perfect time to stand out on her balcony, look out at the sea, listen to the waves, and question every single decision she made that afternoon.

There had to be a point, she guesses, where everything about this new future, this new empire, became too much too fast. To feel her husband’s cheek, firm and smooth instead of wrinkled and scarred and sickly, was the kindling to the flame and now she stares out at the ocean, breathless with change.

It was easy to plow ahead, before, to focus on the simple, basic task of writing letters, the same words over and over and over again with few changes. Put her head down, quill in hand, and work. But with the absence of that focus, there’s a sort of drifting. She knew damn well this sea was not the same sea she was sailing in before, not the safe harbor Snoke provided for her, as small and restrictive as it might have been, but she’s no longer in that harbor, no longer even in that sea, drifting in the middle of a new and vast ocean.

Rey can feel the sting of tears, and then a heartbeat later her cheeks are soaked, and she reaches up to wipe them away, warm and wet against her fingertips.

“I must commend you. I don’t believe I’ve seen him this— Oh, Gods, you’re crying.”

Rey turns just in time to turn her cheek into Poe’s hand. Immediately there are calloused fingers wiping away her tears, a handkerchief coming out and dabbing at her neck, the worn fabric frayed a little, ticklish, and she laughs a little as she tries to brush him off. “Poe, I’m fine, truly—”

“You’re not fine, if you were fine you wouldn’t be crying,” Poe insists, continuing to wipe away her tears with thumb and linen and forcing her to meet his gaze. “Tell me, who do I have to run through?”

“No one,” Rey promises. “Perhaps my own thoughts?”

“That would mean running a blade through your head, and not only do I not want to do that but I fear I would suffer the same fate as ordered by your husband,” Poe mutters, putting his handkerchief away and instead chasing the last few tears with his thumbs instead. Rey sighs, the warmth of his skin grounding her and making the rocking of her mind a little less violent. “Tell me.”

“I…” she starts, looking up into dark eyes narrowed in concern for her and that’s just another unfamiliar thing, now isn’t it? The tears come fresh and hot again. “I don’t even know how to put it into words?” She moves out of his hands to lean back carefully on the stone half-wall, hearing the waves at her back as she stares at the door to her rooms. They’re becoming more known, now, but she’s not used to waking up in them every day just yet… “Everything is changing so quickly, and every day there is something different. It’s overwhelming.”

“I’d say that’s a fine explanation,” Poe replies, leaning against the wall next to her. “Tell me, does this have anything to do with this afternoon?”

She frowns and turns to look at him. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, being given not just the permission to but being encouraged to learn to defend yourself is a big change from your previous life,” Poe says, and she can hear the snark in his voice, his barbs directed towards her late husband. “I still can’t quite comprehend how you survived all those years.”

“Guards,” Rey replies. “Many, many guards. And ladies to tend to me.”

“And yet I found you alone, unarmed, unprotected on the day of his assassination.”

“I believe you know why already,” she says dryly.

Poe hums in agreement, gaze ahead, focused on the thin curtains of her room waving in the night breeze. “All of the sudden people care about you, and you’re crying,” he says, and though his words could be heard as harsh, there’s warmth and humor in his tone as he turns and looks at her. “And you’re starting to care in return.”

“I-”

“Starting to show affection in return.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Rey insists, already knowing what he’s speaking of because of course he watched, of course he saw, because that’s just who he is. And she’s more than certain he was coming to speak to her about it, tease her about it, before he saw the tears on her cheeks.

“And why not?” Poe asks. It’s not a demand. His voice is soft, curious as he leans over to wipe her cheeks for her, even after her fresh, new tears have soaked his skin so he’s just pushing them around her cheeks. “You’re free to give affection as you wish, Rey, you know that—”

“Yes, but I never have!” She doesn’t expect to say it so forcefully, so loudly, and neither had Poe, the man blinking in surprise at her outburst. “I’ve never been able to give it freely, I’ve never desired to give it, Snoke asked me to kiss his cheek or his hands in front of the elite as though to show me off like an obedient pup, I’ve never…”

She’s stunned Poe into silence, it seems, because he’s staring at her, but not saying anything.

“I simply…” she starts, but then she realizes that there are no more words on her tongue. She just stares back at him. “I don’t know.”

Because the truth of the matter is … she doesn’t. She has no idea what to call this hollow feeling in her chest as she stares at her friend, the man looking just as confused as she feels. She opens her mouth again, but nothing comes out. She feels like a mess of tangled threads in a small mortal body, everything knotted and pulling at each other as Poe steps forward and pulls her into his arms.

She’s had such embraces from Finn, from Rose, from Amilyn on occasion, but … that’s the extent of examples of affection. He smells of leather, of some sweet, musky oil that she knows she’s smelled before but can’t put a place on. Warm, comforting, nothing like the overwhelming floral scents that the elite and Snoke preferred that gave her headaches. His hands come to the small of her back and then behind her neck, holding her close and supporting her as she leans into him.

“I don’t know,” she confesses, her voice choked. “I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know what it is. I just feel…” She trails off, unsure.

“It’s all right, you don’t need to know,” he assures her.

“I should be grateful, I should be happy—”

“Don’t start that,” Poe says, voice a little harsher. She can feel the rumbling of it against her chest. “Things are changing and things will continue to change and it is perfectly all right to feel overwhelmed when not a damn thing has changed for you in what, years?”

“But everything’s changing for the better,” she insists, feeling the smooth leather of his jacket against her cheek as his hand starts to rub up and down her back, his roughened callouses catching on the delicate fabric of the gown she’d picked for dinner.

“What of it?” He pulls back a little. “It’s still change.”

“You’re knowledgable about this,” Rey says as she reaches up to wipe fresh tears away. Poe helps her, their fingers colliding. She has to laugh a little.

“I may or may not have had a very similar conversation recently with a certain prissy redheaded general,” Poe explains.

“Hux?” Rey demands, frowning as she wipes her wet fingers on the skirt of her gown. “Truly?”

“If you go to him with weepy eyes and shaking shoulders, he’ll sigh and open his arms,” Poe says with a chuckle. “Don’t tell him I told you that. For someone who seems so shallow and callous, he’s more understanding and deep than others give him credit for.”

“And you spoke to him about similar feelings?”

“After I spoke to you about the decree,” Poe explains. As the night becomes deeper and the shadows become harsher, the flames from the sconces casting everything in their light and making everything seem sharper, she can see that he’s a bit more worn-looking than the soft candlelight of the palace suggests. “Good change is still change. And change can be terrifying.”

“I don’t know what’s to happen next,” Rey confesses. “With … anything.”

“Nor do I. Nor does Hux, nor does Finn, nor does your husband,” he says. “But what will happen will happen. And we will make the decisions necessary when it does. And I firmly believe you will make good ones.”

The kiss to her brow is short and sweet, his hand coming to her back as he guides her inside with the promise of another serving of chocolate torte and some calming tea.

She stops in the doorway, Poe stopping as well and looking down at her in confusion.

“This is going to sound awful,” she says, which is perhaps not the best way to begin what she is about to say, but the words have already left her lips and there’s no return, she supposes. “But I have had very few friends here. My ladies cared little for me, and the guards even less so. Finn and Rose were the only ones I could go to for comfort and conversation. I … “

She knows what she wants to say, what she needs to say, but it’s difficult to make such words come. Poe waits patiently though, until the words, “Thank you,” spill from her lips.

“Thank you for being here,” she continues. “And for continuing to offer comfort and words of reassurance.”

“You’re more than welcome, Rey.”

There’s another kiss to her brow, and she smiles a little bit, the hollowness filling slightly. Not entirely, no, it’s but a drop in what feels like an empty well, but it’s something.

✥

The difficulty with reading records of past events isn’t because there are so many, even though that’s the case as well. She has an entire stack of journals next to her from one emperor’s planning advisor, and there’s no doubt a wealth of knowledge in them that will be useful for learning the ins and outs and dos and don’ts of planning such a large event.

No, the difficulty is that the handwriting of said advisor, and the others who have recorded such events, is incredibly difficult to read.

It’s not even ten in the morning and already her head is pounding as she stares down at the mess of lines and dots, trying to make sense of them. She sighs just as the office door opens, and continues to stare down at the mess as she asks, “Could I have your assistance?”

“What with?”

Her husband’s low voice is a balm to her headache, and she sighs again as she feels the warmth of him behind her, one of his hands coming to the back of her chair and the other bracing on the table as he leans down to observe what she’s looking at.

“Can you read this handwriting?” she asks, gesturing to the page before her. “Most of the records are at least partially legible, but of course the most useful accounts we have are written in a strange mix of chicken scratch and snake trail.”

“Is that a Jakku expression?” Kylo asks. She can hear the laughter in his voice. “Is there a particular part you’re having difficulty with?”

“All of it?” she replies. She reaches up to run her hand through her hair, the strands no doubt in disarray thanks to her repeating the action over the course of the past few hours. She does it again, this time rubbing her scalp in an attempt to relieve some of the pain. It doesn’t work. “It’s a mess, but these are the journals of Emperor Wylber’s planning advisor. It’s the most helpful account we have, but of course it’s damn near illegible.”

“Let me,” Kylo says, reaching for the book before straightening. She misses the warmth of him behind her immediately, but him moving means she can lean back and stretch, her neck, shoulders, and arms aching after yesterday’s training. She tips her head back, looking up at him as he attempts to read what she’s been trying to decipher for a good few minutes now.

“… Huh.”

“You see?” Rey asks, watching as his handsome face turns into one of confusion. His dark brows furrow, his plush lips turn down into a frown, and she watches his eyes move across the page, as though attempting to skim it will result in sudden understanding. 

“I could ask Hux?” he offers. “He’s excellent at reading handwriting, but I wonder if this will be a challenge even for him. Still, he has little to do these days, so perhaps he’ll enjoy it?”

“If he’s willing to do it, I would kiss the ground he walks in,” Rey mutters, rubbing at her eyes. Kylo chuckles, and she hears the sound of the book being returned to her desk. She sighs and turns, looking up at her husband once more.

She can see it, out of the corner of her eye, can see his hand lifting, but her breath still hitches in her throat as he cups her cheek. She holds his gaze, feeling his thumb stroke across her skin, calloused and rough but sweet.

“Are you well?” he asks, and she will never get used to the tremble that runs through her when he lowers his voice, the sound velvety and soft, the hair on her arms standing up at the sound of it.

“I’m uncertain,” she confesses quietly, her gaze finding the embroidery of his jacket instead of his eyes, focusing on the branches sewn into the leather. “So much is changing and so quickly. I spoke to Poe, and he told me it was normal to be fearful, but I … I can’t help but feel like I should be embracing it rather than being scared of it.”

“You’re not alone.”

She lifts her gaze to his, finding warmth and understanding as he continues to stroke her cheek.

“I’m scared too,” he says in that same low voice. “Terrified. You’re not alone.”

“Neither are you,” she whispers.

He bends, his lips finding the top of her hair. And of all of the affection and comfort he could have given, she’s relieved that he chooses this. Her heart is already beating rapidly, and if he were to do more she fears it would stop beating entirely. But instead he just stays, his lips pressed to her hair, and she reaches up to hold his hand to her cheek. Asking him to stay, just for a moment.

If someone had told her that she would find the warmest comfort in the touch of the man who killed her late husband on the day of his death, she would have laughed. Scoffed. Denied it vehemently and spat in their face, maybe. But here she is, indulging in just a few moments of a large, tender hand to her cheek, and soft lips against her head before he’s pulling back and picking up the book.

“I’ll go find Hux,” he promises. “The rest of these, are they written by the same man?”

“Some of them,” she replies, going through them quickly and opening them to check the handwriting. There are a few from other advisors that she keeps for herself, the writing significantly neater. “Those.” She gestures to the pile of about five journals.

“I’ll do my best,” Kylo says, picking those up as well as Kaydel wheels a cart of tea and treats in. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Thank you,” Rey says, both to Kylo as he leaves and Kaydel as she sets a cup of tea down on her desk.

The tea is good, yes, the heat of it and the delicate floral taste reviving her mind as she reaches for another journal, but it’s not as soothing as his presence was.

Which is perhaps the most difficult change to wrap her head and heart around.


	23. XXIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see! Sorry it's taken me a while to get back to this one - had to do some reevaluating about some things. But the good news is, I'm back! And I have a clear vision for the road ahead so hopefully it'll mean faster updates! I'm so excited, you have no idea. Thank you for being amazing and waiting!
> 
> This chapter has a bit darker content. I tried to balance it out with fluff and sweetness, but there is mention of death, and trauma and grief. I apologize, but this is a scene I've had planned for a while and I think it's time for it. If you're uncomfortable with such depictions, I'd recommend skipping the chapter after they finish having lunch. 
> 
> Thank you again for being amazing, and I look forward to the rest of this journey with you!

The most difficult part of it all is the waiting.

She would take the hand cramping, the neck stiffness, the back soreness all over again. Hell, she would take it tenfold without her husband’s hands to soothe the aches if it meant going about her day without the intense fear and shaking anxiety that is waiting.

And it will be weeks before they receive all the responses…

She’s wondering if her heart can take it, her pulse quick under her skin damn near constantly now.

Rey continues her research, combing through old accounts and Hux’s painstakingly written copies of the old advisor’s journal, because of course the general had to go above and beyond and present the perfectly pristine stack of papers to her with a completely straight face.

“I should have warned you he was likely to do that,” Kylo says at dinner, the small dining room warm from the candles around them and the white fish tender and flaky in its bright lemon sauce.

“I knew he was going to do something with it,” Rey replies. “I just wish he hadn’t taken the time to copy it all, it was a waste of his moments in this world.”

“It’s not a waste if it means you, and future emperors can read and use the information,” Kylo promises her. Still, the guilt that the general took such time and care on something that may turn out to be completely useless gnaws at her and certainly doesn’t help the overwhelming anxiety that’s coming from every single direction of her life.

It’s another week before the first response, a full two weeks since they sent the invitations out.

“We’ve received a response from one,” Kaydel says, standing in the doorway of the office. Both emperor and empress look up at her, then look to each other, before standing eagerly from their desks.

She recognizes the courier from the stairs, a sandy-haired youth she spoke to on occasion before Snoke’s death. He smiles at her, presenting a thick set of pages, the wax seal a deep turquoise, almost black, and pressed with the crest of the family Favern.

“Oh, thank the Gods,” Rey breathes, taking the letter from him and running her thumb under the seal, too impatient to find a proper letter opener.

“Someone good?” her husband asks. She can feel him behind her, looking over her shoulder as she opens the letter as quickly and eagerly as she can without tearing the delicate cream parchment.

“Someone very good,” she says, looking up at the courier. “Please, come in, rest. Stay the night, if it pleases you, and tomorrow we will send you off properly with everything you could possibly need for the journey home.”

The young man smiles, gap-toothed and sweet-faced despite his aging since she’s last seen him. “I would be very grateful, Your Majesty.”

“Come, please,” Poe offers, opening his arm in welcome.

The courier is lead away, and the empress and emperor are left standing in the middle of the entrance hall. Rey grins, her cheeks stretching so wide as she looks down at handwriting she recognizes.

“Who is it from?” Kylo inquires, looking over her shoulder once more.

“A man named Maniel Favern,” she explains. “He was once king of Brightcross, before it was overtaken by Snoke and called Vadrod. I’d be eager to restore it’s proper name, Vadrod sounds so dark.”

She’s never been to the kingdom, but she would recognize it on a map. The capital is at the intersection of two rivers, a giant stone city built above the gentle waters, the palace itself right above the direct intersection. Sweeping archways, vines of green plants winding around the stone, watered by the mist of the rivers below. There are drawings in some of Snoke’s books, ones he provided her so that she had a base knowledge of exactly where she was empress.

Of course, there was no discussion on how to rule over them, or any knowledge beyond the minimum. She’s only familiar with the names of the places, how they’re described, and how they came to be under Snoke’s power. In short, how he conquered them.

Rey looks down at the letters, her joy barely contained as she begins to read.

“‘My dearest Rey,’” she begins. “‘It gives me the greatest joy in the world to hear from you, and hear that you are well. I knew that your life had been spared by Emperor Kylo Ren, but I cannot thank the Gods enough that you are not only alive, but you are treated kindly.’”

“You wrote that?” Kylo asks.

“I did,” Rey confirms, looking back at her husband, seeing his brows raised. “He was one of the few former kings who came into Snoke’s circle who inquired about me when he came to visit. I had to inform him of the positive.” She smiles, turning her attention back to the letter.

“‘Though it brings me sorrow to think of Emperor Snoke’s death, I will readily admit that times are changing. I’ve felt it in my city for years now, and had wondered whether I would still be here to witness it. It seems the Gods have decided that I am to bear witness to such a change in our empire. No, truly, they have decided that I am not only to bear witness, but to be part of such revolution. I know not what challenges we will face, but I assure you of my cooperation and assistance wherever it is needed.’”

“He’s promising alliance,” Kylo realizes. His voice is soft, breathless.

“He’s promising alliance,” Rey repeats, feeling a rush of warmth and glee in her chest. She raises her hand and presses it to her chest, feeling as though her heart’s about to burst forth from her ribs, her muscle, her skin, her navy blue silk gown and start soaring towards the heavens. “Oh, thank the Gods. He has one of the biggest kingdoms Snoke overtook. I don’t know of their military, but they have a decent population.”

“This is good,” her husband says. “This is very good.”

“This is wonderful,” she whispers, quickly skimming the rest of the letter. The tone becomes more casual, the older man detailing what’s happened since they last met, his youngest daughter wed and older daughter having two children - twins, little identical darlings. She grins, reading the old man’s words about his new grandchildren. She can just imagine it, the little tots tugging on the man’s long, dark braids, his large hands warm as he cradles them. She’s never met his daughters, but she pictures little babies with dark skin and curly hair, beautiful new life in this new age.

She hopes beyond hope that they will make it safe for them.

✥

“Tell me of him.”

Lunch is a cool cucumber soup, savory and chilled with bread and an arrangement of cured meats and cheeses. It’s nice to be sitting at an actual table, small though it may be in their office, instead of eating at her desk as she’d done previously.

“He’s kind,” she says, dipping her golden spoon in. “I can’t say that about much of them, but I can say that about a few. I didn’t dare to hope. I hadn’t heard much of him recently, I feared the worst.”

“His age?”

“Older,” Rey explains. “Not Snoke’s age, but there was grey in his beard and hair last time I saw him, perhaps two years ago.”

“I look forward to meeting him, then,” Kylo replies.

“As do I. Again."

“How go the preparations?”

“I still don’t know whether to choose cream or vanilla or ivory napkins, but I’ve spoken with Amilyn about having more flags and banners made,” Rey replies, pausing to take another sip of soup. She’ll have to request Maz make it again, especially after training. It’s cool on her tongue, refreshing but filling. “I have plans to go through the palace and see what else should be removed. I’m speaking with Kaydel and Poe to reach out to the members of the families regarding the pieces in the galleries. See if we can reunite them with those they truly belong to.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Rey stops, the spoon just barely to her lips as her husband’s voice reaches her ears. She looks up at him, hand still hovering.

He’s not looking at her, instead reaching for some soft, white cheese, spreading it on a piece of toasted bread before he adds a small pile of cured meat. He looks up just as he’s about to take a bite, and meets her surprised gaze. His mouth closes, and he frowns. “Did I speak poorly?”

“No,” Rey replies immediately. “No, it’s just … I haven’t heard someone say that in a very long time.”

If she’s entirely honest, she can’t remember the last time someone told her they were proud of her. Perhaps her father, or her mother, before she left. But she can’t recall the moment.

It’s sadly becoming more difficult to recall them, even. She’s beginning to forget how her father’s beard felt against her cheek, how many lines her mother had around her eyes…

She quickly slips the spoon between her lips, focusing on the flavor of the soup instead of her own tragedies.

“Well, I am,” Kylo says. “You’ve taken on a task I did not ask you to, but I will be forever grateful for.”

“I would have no wish for you to take on the task,” she replies. “I’ve been to many of these such events, even if I was not allowed to contribute anything of significant substance. I still sat and watched and listened, though I am willing to bet those involved forgot I’m capable of such things. I can’t imagine the mess you’d make alone.”

Kylo chuckles, shaking his head. “Nor can I. And I’m glad I should only have to imagine it.”

Rey can’t help but smile, a brief and necessary reprieve from the anxiety sparking under her skin.

✥

The night is cool, the breeze sweet and salty as it rolls off of the sea. It doesn’t seem like much, admittedly, to have finally decided on table linens and banner colors, but now it’s onto the idea of a schedule. Which, though daunting, is a much simpler task than researching hues and their meanings in all of the different kingdoms Snoke has claimed as his over the years of his reign.

She’s moved a small table and a chair outside, her legs curled in and her feed braced on the chair as she lets her eyes look upon crashing waves instead of swirling letters. She can see small men at the port, their silhouettes the size of ants in the distance as they climb the ropes of the ships and adjust the sails and check the knots.

Kylo’s balcony may have a more interesting view, looking out both at the port and the cliffs and the coast and out towards the city and rolling hills, but she’s become fond of this one. Perhaps, with protection, of course, she will indulge one day in making her way down. Maybe Maz will escort her, in search of fresh seafood. It’s been so nice to indulge in flaky fishes and tender scallops without their being drowned in rich, creamy sauces filled with expensive ingredients, as Snoke was so fond of.

She breathes a little easier, tonight. The cup of tea in her hands warms her despite the night breeze, and she finds her shoulders don’t ache as much as they did.

Brightcross is on their side.

Two more came through the day. The leader of a small city to the east, an old city called Cidhna. It’s age has gotten to it, if she can recall, the walls in disrepair and its keep crumbling. Snoke didn’t care, promising gold to Sir Aerin to fix such issues, but she remembers the late emperor’s laughter and the way he brushed off the concerns of a young, sandy-haired man trying desperately to fix his city after his father passed. Aerin’s quiet, if she can recall, but she remembers seeing his weary face and thinking him kind.

And indeed he is. His handwriting is not so neat and polished as Maniel’s, but he also thanks the Gods for her survival and promises their support, though he himself confesses it may not be much. She will have to write to him tomorrow, she knows. With promise of as much gold as they can spare, and her most heartfelt thanks.

The third letter received was from Marise, the wife of one of the leaders to the east. Another small city, Montlun.

She had expected a negative response, in some ways, but a man’s abandonment of not only his city, but his wife…

Still, Marise’s voice was strong in her support, the letter short but to-the-point in offering her assistance and alliance. ‘I pray that I will have the strength he did not, to improve the lives of our people.’

Rey is looking forward to writing that response, insisting that she already has far more strength than her husband. Strength, compassion, sense.

And though she can’t list many others she would consider allies, she can only have hope that they will be surprised in some ways.

She takes another sip of her tea. The blend is one of the very, very, very few things that Snoke enjoyed, and so does she. The rich, deep flavor of vanilla, with pomegranate and black tea. He may have ruined the smell of roses for her, but she found comfort in this tea whenever it was sent to her rooms. She won’t let him ruin this for her, not when its warmth and depth make her feel just a little bit lighter in heart.

“Rey.”

She looks up, blinking in the low light. She turns, looking over her shoulder to see Kylo standing in the doorway.

“Kylo,” she says, setting her tea down and moving to get off of the chair. She’s already in her bedclothes, her nightshift and her robe. Her feet almost touch the marble floor of the balcony before he’s stepping forward towards her.

“No, no, don’t get up,” he begs, holding his hand out. Rey frowns, but stands anyways, wrapping her arms around herself against the night breeze. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s all right, it’s not like I was doing anything of great importance,” she replies with a smile, before he steps closer towards her and further into the light of the lantern she’d brought out with her.

There’s a darkness to his face. A deep sadness, his eyes filled with sorrow and something like heartbreak. Rey immediately reaches towards him, towards his hands to take them in hers, before she realizes that he’s holding few pieces of parchment. “Kylo…?”

“There are more,” he says, licking his lips and taking a breath. “But this one ... I … I’m sorry, Rey.”

“What is it, what are they? Did we receive more letters, are people not coming?” Rey demands, feeling as though her stomach drops through to her feet as she looks down at the parchment. No, no, that’s not it. These don’t look like letters from other cities, towns, keeps. She knows this handwriting... A quick glance of what she can see over the top, and she recognizes the stamp that Snoke used at the top of his correspondences—

“What did you find?” she begs, reaching for his arm and clutching tight.

His eyes still hold that same sadness before he looks down at the papers. “You’re brilliant, truly,” he says. His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, and she has to step closer to him, bodies nearly colliding in order to hear him. “After you found the secret compartments in Snoke’s desk, I asked Hux to search for more around my rooms. Open every book, look under every chair, in every board of the bedframe. Truly, you are brilliant, I …”

“What did you find?” Rey asks again, her fingers digging into his forearm. He’s similarly dressed for bed, his skin warm through the linen of his shirt. “Kylo, tell me. I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

Her husband says nothing. Instead, he merely takes her hand from his forearm, and pushes the papers into them. They crinkle as she reaches up to take them, her brow furrowed in confusion.

She turns them around properly, seeing Snoke’s insignia, as she’d thought. She quickly glances over the text. Letters, from Snoke himself to General Pryde.

General Pryde.

She knows the late general. Ruthless, he acted for Snoke, was one of his most trusted men. He was the one who directed most of the attacks, most of the slaughters of the kingdoms that—

_No._

“Rey…”

Her gaze moves along the lines, searching, not reading. Her breath is stopped in her throat, her heart heavy as she looks for what she suspects will be there.

Her parents names are on the third page. The first page is merely a letter from Snoke to Tarkin, inquiring about Jakku. The second is from Tarkin to Snoke, informing the emperor that the people were resisting. And then the third… the third contains the order itself. Her parents names are intermixed with those of her aunts, her uncles, anyone who was part of the royal family. It’s not a long list by any means, given the survival rate of the desert kingdom, but it’s a list.

A list that her late husband wrote, knowing full well that any name he did write would result in death.

She knew. She’s always known, ever since she received the news, but to see it so simply, and to have such evidence right in front of her, _in her hands…_

She wonders if, for all the times people have spoken of feeling their hearts break, if it is truly physically possible. Because it certainly feels like it as she scans the words until the tears cloud her vision.

She’s not sure what sound she makes. If it’s a word, or if it’s just some kind of pained, strangled scream mixed with a sob. Of course Kylo would have brought this to her, of course he would have made it known to her. She didn’t expect for him to find such a thing, hadn’t expected for Snoke to keep it. But it’s become adamantly clear that the man saved everything, regardless of how important it was to him.

Regardless of how important it is to her, as terrible as such a thought is.

She feels her knees buckle, her chest feeling hollow. Within seconds, the papers are pulled from her hands, and there are arms around her. Her husband lifts her up like she weighs nothing, lifting her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. He must have told the guards what he found, for no one comes rushing as she screams and sobs against his neck. It hurts more than it did the day she was told. It’s strange. She felt numb all these years, and now … now she feels sliced open. Stinging. Throbbing. Aching, all at once.

Kylo says nothing, letting her anguished scream echo into the night air as he cradles her like a child, his hand cupping her head and the other supporting her back as he moves inside.

“Keep the doors open, please,” she hears, his low voice buzzing against her ear. “Thank you.”

He sits on the settee with her in his arms. All of the warmth and safety and comfort his voice, his words, his hands have provided her the past few weeks do nothing to make the hurt stop.

She wonders, if his steady and comforting presence isn’t enough to keep her from breaking, if anything in the world would be enough.

“A blanket, please.”

Within seconds, there’s a blanket wrapped around her. It’s becoming harder to breathe, now, the world feeling so small and her chest tight with sobs. It doesn’t seem to end. Every time she tries to take a breath, her heart buckles and she sobs again. There’s a hand on her back, comforting, rubbing sweetly. It doesn’t help the severity of the sobs, doesn’t help them stop, but at the very least it’s there.

“He-” she tries, only to have the word interrupted by her own heartbreak and crying. What was she about to say? She can’t recall. Her mind returns to the list of names, seeing them in his perfect, looping handwriting, so beautiful and so horrible.

“He was a monster,” Kylo whispers. “He was a horrid, terrible man who is rotting. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

That’s just it, though, isn’t it? He’s gone. He’s gone, and more than anything she wishes he were here. So that she could scream at him, cry at him, somehow hurt him in the way that he hurt her. She has no idea how, considering he didn’t have a damn thing he was attached to aside from his power. But she aches, closing her eyes and just letting the sobs come, despite the physical pain that’s now wracking her chest.

There’s a chill, despite the blanket, despite his arms wrapped around her. She closes her eyes, turning her face into his sleep shirt, the linen drying her tears. A gentle hand takes her chin, pulling her away, and she’s opening her mouth to ask why when there’s softness against her cheeks and under her nose, wiping her tears away.

“Blow,” she’s directed, and she does. It doesn’t stop the sobs, but it makes it easier to breathe, and for that she’s grateful as she looks up at him.

“I-I a-apolo-”

“Don’t.” His voice is almost a growl, his hand coming to her cheek. She can feel his arm wrapped around her, the weight of it seeming to quell the sobs just a bit, if only because he’s preventing her from moving to violently. “Don’t you dare apologize. I beg for your forgiveness that I even brought such things to you, but I thought—”

“No, you-you’re right,” Rey breathes as best as she can. Her chest is still spasming, and she feels his hand upon her back once more, willing her lungs and heart to stop their hiccuping. “I-I th-thank you…”

Gods, she’s thanking him for bringing her proof of their death… but it is one thing to know, and it is another to _know._ To see it in black and cream, to know that it was _his_ doing.

“He’s lucky,” she breathes. It’s a short full sentence, but it’s the first full sentence she can manage.

“Who is?”

“That he’s al-already d-dead.”

Her jaw quivers, spasming as well, and she closes her eyes as his thumb strokes her cheek in comfort. There are lips upon her brow, and she manages to take a deep breath for the first time in several moments.

It goes on. Every time her chest seems to calm, the names in his handwriting will float behind her eyelids and she starts sobbing again. She hears muttered words of more handkerchiefs, and eventually she just keeps her eyes open, staring at the constellations of moles along her husband’s neck and collarbone. It’s easier than closing her eyes and seeing the order and the names over, and over, and over again.

He holds her through it all. Letting her run through the bouts of sobbing, of wiping her face of unfortunate snot and tears. He’d told her he was proud of her that afternoon, but she has to wonder how he feels now about her sobbing over something that happened years ago. She'd already grieved then, and it hurts less now, she will admit, but it still _hurts._

“I don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight,” she confesses, once she can speak clearly. Gods, her chest hurts, though his hand rubbing her back, fingers massaging her spine through the robe and shift helps slightly. At the very least, the warmth makes it easier to breathe. “I just keep seeing it, I …”

“Then I shall stay up with you,” he promises. It’s said so simply, so matter-of-factly. She looks up at him, eyes wide. “Kaydel says you still have to decide cuisine?”

“I … yes, but—”

“I’ll help.”

“I don’t think I can take anymore reading tonight,” she whispers. “Of … of anything.”

“Then we won’t read. We’ll speak.”

“Kylo, you don’t need to,” she insists, feeling a clean, dry handkerchief pressed into her hands. She’s tired, exhausted from crying, but if she closes her eyes, she’ll see— “I’ll be all right.”

“I would feel more comfortable staying with you,” he insists. “If you permit it. Tell me to go, and I will go, but I have no wish for you to be alone right now.”

“No, nor do I,” she says. She laughs a little, the sound humorless and sad. She reaches up, wiping her face again. “Gods, I need to clean up…”

“Poe—”

Rey blinks, looking up to see that the other man joined them at some point, his eyes soft and hurting for her as he goes to her washbasin. “No, no, it’s all right,” she says, untangling herself from her husband to go herself. “I … I’ll do it, you go back to … whatever you were doing.”

Poe nods, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles. He says nothing, and she’s grateful for it, only offering her the comfort of a quick, gentle embrace before he’s leaving the emperor and empress to themselves.

“When did you call for him?” she asks, turning to look at her husband.

“He was here the entire time. He followed me after Hux brought me the letters. He's been the one fetching the handkerchiefs,” Kylo explains. He stands from the settee. “Do you wish for me to go, as well?”

“No, stay. Please.” It’s not the answer she expected to fall from her lips, but it’s the one that does as she crosses to the washbasin and pours some water into the bowl. She splashes her face, washing herself of tears and everything else that came with them before she’s patting her skin dry.

It’s a little thing, to feel her skin clean, but … but it’s better. Marginally better, but it’s better. Her chest feels on the verge of collapse, as though she's at the precipice of sobbing again, but for now she's no longer crying. She wonders if she'd have any tears left if she were to try.

“Stay,” Rey says, turning to face her husband. Where she’d tucked her face is wet from her tears, the thin white fabric transparent and showing the dark moles scattered across his pec, a dark pink nipple against pale skin. She swallows, trying to even her breathing once more. “Change, and then return, and then stay? I … you’re right. I don’t want to be alone tonight, but I know not if I can sleep, either.”

He nods and turns to walk towards the door connecting their rooms.

“Kylo?”

He stops, looking back at her with wide, eager eyes.

She has to smile at that, sniffling a little, sore and aching still but … but she will heal. “Thank you, Kylo.”

“… Ben.”

“Ben?” she asks.

“My name,” he clarifies.

She blinks, recalling the handkerchiefs, the ones with the B embroidered on them. No doubt she used up half a dozen, maybe more, in the past … however long it’s been. Minutes. Hours. “Ben,” she breathes.

“Kylo Ren was the name I chose when I took up the Resistance,” he explains. The warmth of his voice soothes her, pulse calming beneath her fingertips as she stands with her arms wrapped around herself. “My name is Ben.”

“Ben,” she repeats again. “Thank you, Ben.” She hesitates, before asking, almost sheepishly, “Don’t take too long?”

Kylo - no, _Ben, _smiles. It’s small, as all of his smiles towards her have been. But there’s something about the way his cheeks crease, and it seems to reach his eyes, that’s endearing. “I’ll just change my shirt.”

He disappears into his own rooms, and she can hear the sound of drawers through the door.

The grief doesn’t disappear. She suspects it won’t not for a while. The wound’s been opened once more. She has to wonder if it truly healed or if she just told herself it did. She’ll read the full letters, the order, when she is ready. She’s not ready, not yet. But one day.

She can see them sitting on a nearby table, and moves, taking them and folding them as they were, following the creases. Small. No doubt they were found tucked away in some secret hiding spot. She tucks them away in the table beside her bed, sighing and rubbing at her eyes and waiting for Ben to return.

_Ben._

The name makes something bloom in her chest. It’s not enough to banish the chill of grief, or the aches that come from sobbing her heart out, but it’s comforting, and she will take whatever comfort she can right now.

_Ben_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment or a kudo! They give me warm, fuzzy feelings, and shamelessly motivate me to write faster.


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